Since I was born there have been many claims on myself, my time and my promises.
These claims get more and more the older we get until one day we can see them for what they are.
I think it's the case that this is the same with our environment, fellow creatures and philosophies.
Our final claim of course will be one of the earth or sand where we all must return - this is not bleak but comforting.
The minute the world was born and spawned an environment capable of intelligent life.
There were many claims on it as a person, animal, plant, raindrop, gravity tectonics and all.
The claims come and go and leave their mark, nibbling at its basic currency; time.
Somehow it has to manage all this and it can be utterly draining.
It has a claim on itself after all and what would we do as its guests without it anyway?
This is our life and Gaia's poem is perhaps a silent cry.