Michael Collins , an astronaut on NASA’s Apollo 11 mission in 1969, was one if the first American astronauts to give a personal perspective to viewing earth from afar, what is now called “the overview effect” . He said that "the thing that really surprised him was “it [Earth] projected an air of fragility. And why, I don't know. I don't know to this day. I had a feeling it's tiny, it's shiny, it's beautiful, it's home, and it's fragile".
Astronaut Edgar Mitchell (Apollo 14; 1971) wrote and spoke about this effect extensively; describing it as an "explosion of awareness" and an "overwhelming sense of oneness and connectedness... accompanied by an ecstasy... an epiphany".
Given that our daily view of our world is normally looking out into a limited and defined space (other than up into the sky), it is not unreasonable to expect a different impression when one sees the same live-able spaces from far above, whether flying in the air or high on a mountain top. We only need to remember our first ascent into a tall building, looking out below with a sense of awe, fragility, and wonder. It’s easy to understand how such an impression, when we rarely encounter expansive natural landscapes, could shift our sense of self from "me" to "we".
Your poem illustrates that experience citing a personal and overwhelming sense of oneness, where our view of this world changes from a small plot of land to a collective home. One, where walls, fences, and unnatural borders fade away, exposing a shared destiny and a certain unity in the human experience. We need such reminders that looking out the small windows of our homes is much more limited than what the rest of the world sees looking back. Well done!
This is so beautiful!!! The imagery.... It makes me think of us as having a human version of a mycorrhizal network! :D separated or connected... It just depends on the perspective we take.
This brings to mind a moment I had in Montana a few years back. I was exploring the Absaroka-Beartooth mountains south of Red Lodge with two friends, and we had taken a UTV up a tiny access road to the top of Hell Roaring Plateau, which is across the valley to the north of the well known Beartooth Pass. Standing there on that flat spot on top of a mountain so high there are no trees, I could see peak after peak fading into the distance in all directions. The valleys below held lakes fed by melting snow in a wilderness of untouched nature. I remember feeling so incredibly small and insignificant in the big picture - a literal speck on this planet we call home - while simultaneously knowing that even I mattered in a world where only a few people even know who I am. I will never forget that feeling, and I wish those who live "above" us with bank accounts that exceed my imagination could find themselves standing alone in such a spot to reflect on their lives. They either have forgotten or never known that feeling of being insignificant, and perhaps they could benefit from it. (I know this is a delusional thought - they would never deign to look within to understand.)
Thank you for the imagery and the reminder that we are all a part of the bigger picture, no matter how small we feel in the moment.
What a beautiful thing you write about. Looking out at the world from on high, and I hear you, loud and clear.
I grew up on top of a 'hill'. One of two houses. With a huge picture window that looked down a long rolling field [that housed our neighbors horses]., into the valley below where there was the White River, and then back up to the 'hill' across from us.
My parents also bought the house for that view, a spectacular view that afforded many a day of gazing out into the world and far beyond to the mountains. One that gave a great appreciation for the 4 seasons.
In the spring, we could see our neighbors across the river on that other hill burning their grasses. The fall afforded the gorgeous change and burst of colour. In winter, we would see the other houses lit up with Christmas lights and snow upon snow, and yeah, marvel at the twinkling. The thunderstorms or summer were the best ... long bolts of lightning crashing into the valley and at the bottom of the field that held wildflowers upon wildflowers.
And never go back to visit, they say. One visit to the North, I drove up the hill to see our house/not our house. The house remained the same, but the field was gone and cluttered with subdivision upon subdivision. Ticky-Tacky. [song lyric ... 'little boxes, on a hillside, and they're all made out of ticky-tacky. Little boxes, on a hillside, and they all look just the same."]
So grateful that I had the chance to grow up there. So grateful to see the whole of what lay before me and wonder about all those others across the valley
Wow, what a view that must have been! I can see what you've seen, and I am so happy those images fill your memory before it all went away, before it was all replaced by that depressing machine that is progress.
I love this!!! It makes me happy to reflect back on how excited you were that day... I often imagine what it would feel like to wake up each morning and see the community stretching its arms awake... hopefully feeling "hope" and happiness for what the day would bring.... each night seeing the lights twinkle.... it made my heart sing.....this truly was where you needed to be!!
The shift from “me” to “we”
Michael Collins , an astronaut on NASA’s Apollo 11 mission in 1969, was one if the first American astronauts to give a personal perspective to viewing earth from afar, what is now called “the overview effect” . He said that "the thing that really surprised him was “it [Earth] projected an air of fragility. And why, I don't know. I don't know to this day. I had a feeling it's tiny, it's shiny, it's beautiful, it's home, and it's fragile".
Astronaut Edgar Mitchell (Apollo 14; 1971) wrote and spoke about this effect extensively; describing it as an "explosion of awareness" and an "overwhelming sense of oneness and connectedness... accompanied by an ecstasy... an epiphany".
Given that our daily view of our world is normally looking out into a limited and defined space (other than up into the sky), it is not unreasonable to expect a different impression when one sees the same live-able spaces from far above, whether flying in the air or high on a mountain top. We only need to remember our first ascent into a tall building, looking out below with a sense of awe, fragility, and wonder. It’s easy to understand how such an impression, when we rarely encounter expansive natural landscapes, could shift our sense of self from "me" to "we".
Your poem illustrates that experience citing a personal and overwhelming sense of oneness, where our view of this world changes from a small plot of land to a collective home. One, where walls, fences, and unnatural borders fade away, exposing a shared destiny and a certain unity in the human experience. We need such reminders that looking out the small windows of our homes is much more limited than what the rest of the world sees looking back. Well done!
The me to we is the most crucial shift of all shifts. The more that do this, the better it'll be. I've so long believed this. Thank you, brother.
Beautiful poem, beautiful idea.
Thank you so very much :)
This is so beautiful!!! The imagery.... It makes me think of us as having a human version of a mycorrhizal network! :D separated or connected... It just depends on the perspective we take.
Thank you for this, Tyler.
I LOVE this thought! Thank you so much for chiming in with this!
This brings to mind a moment I had in Montana a few years back. I was exploring the Absaroka-Beartooth mountains south of Red Lodge with two friends, and we had taken a UTV up a tiny access road to the top of Hell Roaring Plateau, which is across the valley to the north of the well known Beartooth Pass. Standing there on that flat spot on top of a mountain so high there are no trees, I could see peak after peak fading into the distance in all directions. The valleys below held lakes fed by melting snow in a wilderness of untouched nature. I remember feeling so incredibly small and insignificant in the big picture - a literal speck on this planet we call home - while simultaneously knowing that even I mattered in a world where only a few people even know who I am. I will never forget that feeling, and I wish those who live "above" us with bank accounts that exceed my imagination could find themselves standing alone in such a spot to reflect on their lives. They either have forgotten or never known that feeling of being insignificant, and perhaps they could benefit from it. (I know this is a delusional thought - they would never deign to look within to understand.)
Thank you for the imagery and the reminder that we are all a part of the bigger picture, no matter how small we feel in the moment.
WOW, what a memory, what a feeling that must have been. Thank you for sharing Your imagery with the rest of us. What a thing.
What a beautiful thing you write about. Looking out at the world from on high, and I hear you, loud and clear.
I grew up on top of a 'hill'. One of two houses. With a huge picture window that looked down a long rolling field [that housed our neighbors horses]., into the valley below where there was the White River, and then back up to the 'hill' across from us.
My parents also bought the house for that view, a spectacular view that afforded many a day of gazing out into the world and far beyond to the mountains. One that gave a great appreciation for the 4 seasons.
In the spring, we could see our neighbors across the river on that other hill burning their grasses. The fall afforded the gorgeous change and burst of colour. In winter, we would see the other houses lit up with Christmas lights and snow upon snow, and yeah, marvel at the twinkling. The thunderstorms or summer were the best ... long bolts of lightning crashing into the valley and at the bottom of the field that held wildflowers upon wildflowers.
And never go back to visit, they say. One visit to the North, I drove up the hill to see our house/not our house. The house remained the same, but the field was gone and cluttered with subdivision upon subdivision. Ticky-Tacky. [song lyric ... 'little boxes, on a hillside, and they're all made out of ticky-tacky. Little boxes, on a hillside, and they all look just the same."]
So grateful that I had the chance to grow up there. So grateful to see the whole of what lay before me and wonder about all those others across the valley
Wow, what a view that must have been! I can see what you've seen, and I am so happy those images fill your memory before it all went away, before it was all replaced by that depressing machine that is progress.
I love this!!! It makes me happy to reflect back on how excited you were that day... I often imagine what it would feel like to wake up each morning and see the community stretching its arms awake... hopefully feeling "hope" and happiness for what the day would bring.... each night seeing the lights twinkle.... it made my heart sing.....this truly was where you needed to be!!
:) Thank you so much for helping turn it into a home!