Is Life Something That Really Begins?
We’ve all heard it in science class: life on Earth first appeared billions of years ago.
Since then, scientists have been trying to figure out how that was even possible.
They’ve run experiments—zapping gases like methane and ammonia with electricity, splitting water molecules—
all in the hope of recreating the conditions that might have sparked life.
And yes, they’ve managed to form organic compounds from inorganic substances.
In other words, they’ve built the raw material—the physical “stuff” of life.
But here’s the big question:
How do you breathe life into that material?
Does it just happen on its own once the ingredients are all there?
Most of us sense—intuitively—that it doesn’t.
We love to divide the world into “living” and “non-living.”
And of course, we put ourselves—humans—at the top of the living category,
calling ourselves the pinnacle of evolution, the masters of nature.
But is that really true?
Is life something separate, something higher than all matter—organic or inorganic?
Is life a special force that shows up under just the right conditions and disappears just as mysteriously?
What connection do I really have to that stone on the mountain trail?
Can I ever truly relate to the tree outside my window—or is it forever a silent, foreign presence?
These kinds of questions point back to a deeper misunderstanding—
the assumption that life has some clear starting point, a birth moment.
But if we take a closer look at reality,
we start to see that nothing stands alone. Everything is interconnected,
relying on everything else to exist.
And that includes life.
Life isn’t something that shows up because of interdependence—
Interdependence itself is life.
In other words, what we call “the universe”—though even that word feels too small—
isn’t just the backdrop for life.
It is life, unfolding, expressing, becoming.
Seen from this angle, even the scientist in the lab trying to “create” life—
firing bolts of electricity into a gas chamber—isn’t outside the story.
That scientist is life.
Their curiosity, their experiment—that’s all part of the living process.
It’s a beautiful paradox.
Right now, this very moment—
the trees, the stones, the tiniest shards of broken tile—
they’re all quietly, insistently telling the truth:
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