Pachamama in the supermarket's backyard
Pachamama and Perusino talk about too much, too fast, and the consequences.
Pachamama sits in the back of a supermarket. The doors only open for delivery vans, and nobody likes to linger. The place seems like a corner that's been accidentally forgotten, even though decisions are made here every day. A wall keeps the view from the street, and that's precisely what makes the backyard so convenient. Part of the truth remains unseen when nobody goes around the corner.
The yard smells of damp cardboard, cold air from the refrigeration units, and sweet fruit that could still be eaten. Large bins stand packed tightly together, several lids tilting because they're overloaded. Loaves of bread, yogurt cups, and apples with minor bruises lie scattered among plastic sheeting and crates. Some of it looks as if it's just fallen off the shelf, only there's no room left on the display.
In such a moment, a child sees the food first and then the question. Adults often see rules, shifts, delivery lists, and reasons that sound prim and proper. The Earth Goddess isn't interested in excuses because excuses don't fill stomachs or keep fields fallow. Perusino notices this immediately because his questions aren't prim and proper, but direct, just like children's questions are.
Perusino stands before the bins, his hands in his pockets because the concrete feels cold. Flies circle in small circles, as if following a timetable. A woman sits beside an overturned crate of vegetables. She looks so serene, as if she's belonged here ever since people started making decisions too quickly. Her clothing is unremarkable, and that's precisely what makes her stand out. Soil clings to her fingers, as if she'd just touched something that wants to grow. Her gaze remains clear, as if this backyard were just a page in a book that many people prefer to keep closed.
Perusino: Why does all this end up here even though it still looks good?
Pachamama: That's called a system of sorting. Rules are part of it, and these rules favor sales over hunger, even though hunger is the reason why food is important in the first place.
Perusino: That's what order is supposed to be, but to me order doesn't look like throwing things away, but rather like keeping them.
Pachamama: Order applies here to shelves and processes, while cycles are not given a place because cycles take time and time often appears as a mistake in reports.
A gust of wind lifts a sheet of plastic, revealing strawberries underneath. One corner is mushy, the rest remains red and firm. A cardboard box next to it is still closed, as if someone had decided that appearances are more important than contents.
Perusino: Adults keep saying that everything will be better later because technology will come, recycling will come, and new ideas will come.
Pachamama: "Later" is a convenient word, and it becomes a storage space in the mind, although time is not a storage space and an apple doesn't become fresh again just because someone would like it to.
Perusino: Surely you should be filled with anger when you see this, or do you just not care?
Pachamama: Anger doesn't speed anything up, and attention changes more because it stops actions early, before habit becomes harmful.
A barrel lid slams shut, slides back up, and comes to rest at an angle, as if even the barrel itself were protesting. A bird lands briefly on the rim, looks down into the depths, and flies away again, as if even it finds this too much.
Perusino: Consequences come to mind, but consequences sound like punishment, and punishment sounds bad.
Pachamama: Punishments come from above, consequences come of their own accord, and consequences are not evil, but honest, because they show what happens when moderation is lacking.
Liquid drips from a barrel, leaving a trail across the asphalt. A drain swallows the trail, as if that too were simply waste. A crate of lettuce stands nearby, still crisp, only the leaves slightly dark.
Perusino: Growth is considered good everywhere, and for children it even means that one is happy when one grows bigger.
Pachamama: Growth is not the problem, but moderation, because moderation makes growth healthy, and without moderation, bigger eventually becomes too much.
Perusino: Stagnation frightens many people because stagnation sounds like losing.
Pachamama: Pauses keep things alive, and without a pause a system collapses, even if it seemed perfect before, just as a person without sleep remains awake but not clear-headed.
Perusino: Machines can help, because machines calculate and plan.
Pachamama: Machines calculate well, life waits differently, and waiting is not a mistake, but a part of maturity, like a cake that remains raw inside if cut too quickly.
Perusino's gaze sweeps once more over the bins. Inside the market, the same products stand neatly in rows, while outside they lie like a second version of the same world, only without price tags and without pride. The courtyard suddenly seems like a mirror that no one wants to hang up. A set of keys rattles somewhere behind a door, and footsteps quickly recede, as if someone were afraid of being asked questions.
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Perusino: A child should remember one picture, and what picture is it here?
Pachamama: A full container behind a clean facade, so that a child understands that cleanliness is sometimes just a curtain and that the truth often lies behind it.
Perusino: A sentence should help when someone says that something is normal and cannot be changed, and such a sentence should also apply to adults.
Pachamama: Normal is only what you get used to, and habit is no excuse. A decision remains possible nonetheless, every day, with every box, with every glance away or towards.
Perusino: A decision sounds big, but I am small, and small people are often ignored.
Pachamama: Size doesn't decide, attention decides, and a small question can be bigger than a big plan because a question can be a stop sign in the mind.
Perusino: What question is appropriate for this place without sounding like a lecture?
Pachamama: One question is: Why is this lying out here, even though it could still be food? A second question is: Who decided that too much is allowed? A third question is: Who pays the price when food ends up in the trash?
Perusino: Adults pay money, but what else do you mean by price?
Pachamama: A price also represents land, water, labor, and time. An apple needs sun, rain, hands, and paths, and an apple in the trash creates a gap that no one sees on the receipt.
Perusino: I still need a statement, one to remember, because otherwise everyone will just look away again.
Pachamama: A statement fits here because this place is honest. Those who want more must first recognize enough, otherwise wealth becomes waste and waste becomes the future, and responsibility doesn't begin with grand speeches, but with small decisions that no one applauds.
A moment of silence hangs between the concrete walls. Perusino is no longer just looking into the bins, but also at his own shoes, as if the soles were suddenly telling a story. A bowl of yogurt lies there, still sealed, and the expiration date seems like a tiny number that decides everything. A thought lingers in his mind because it sounds simple yet is difficult. Enough suddenly doesn't seem boring, but rather like a goal.
One sentence from the conversation lingers because it's devoid of threat yet still hits home. Pachamama doesn't call habit an excuse, and this is precisely the point children easily grasp. A habit can feel normal even though it's wrong, and that's exactly why asking questions helps. A question pauses briefly before simply moving on.
A look at the bins also reveals that backyards are rarely just backyards. Part of the system likes to hide because hiding feels easier than change. Pachamama therefore represents not only earth, but also what happens beneath the surface when too much, too fast, becomes the norm. Soil becomes exhausted, water becomes dirtier, air becomes heavier, and ultimately, food becomes scarcer, even though there was so much before.
A child can do more here than many adults expect. A question at the kitchen table can be enough to make someone look differently the next time they go shopping. A portion that is actually eaten can be more important than one that only looks good. Leftovers in the fridge can be a sign of a plan, not a flaw. Pachamama doesn't demand perfection, but rather attentiveness, because attentiveness is the beginning of moderation.
One final image lingers because it's easy to remember. The front entrance represents order and choice, while the backyard reveals the price. Pachamama sits precisely there so that no one can say they didn't see it. In the end, Perusino doesn't take a magic spell, but a phrase that fits in any pocket: Knowing enough protects more than possessing more.
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