If the universe is an organism in its own becoming, then worlds are its organs.
Each one with its own rhythm, its own pulse, its own fragile balance.
Think of Earth: its rivers are veins, its forests lungs, its coral reefs filtering tissues. When the forests fall, the breath shortens. When the waters clog, the blood slows. The organ falters, and with it the whole body of life.
Inside this organ, we are the cells – born, living out our function, then gone.
No single cell understands the heart it beats in, the liver it cleans, the skin it shields. Yet each is essential.
Some cells nourish. Some heal. Some protect.
And some forget their purpose, multiplying without end, until they become cancer.
That is our danger. To live as if we are separate from the organ, forgetting the larger body that holds us. To burn without rhythm, to consume without memory, to fight against the very life that gave us breath.
But we are not condemned to that. A cell can remember its place. A world can remember its role.
Our task is not to master the organism, but to harmonise with it. To let Earth, this organ we inhabit, remain alive enough for life to keep evolving.
We are not the whole body. We are not even the organ.
We are cells, briefly luminous.
Our gift is to remember the body while we live,
and to leave this organ stronger than we found it.
Play your role well. Then pass the torch.
— Uzanenkosi
Torchbearer, Marantu