First some music:
Around me I see trees falling, and I think of Saruman and his tree-killing orcs and half-orcs. Machines fell the old giants in a few minutes, and leave a scarred landscape. I see new stubs every time I venture outside. Entire groves just disappear overnight, to make room for more cattle or buildings. There are always more human mouths to feed in this world. More slaves that need housing. More money to be made by those who rule our changing world. “Cut it all down!”
Alas! Where the forests used to stand, deep, dark and daunting, there are now open fields and pasture, bogs and barbed wire fences, roads and settlements. The hills stand naked under the sky, often desecrated by the ugly constructions of modern man. The mountains rest in a sea of reeking cities. Silence is never broken by the song of birds or the wind, but is forever banished by the constant sound of engines; tractors, ATVs, cars, buses, lawn-mowers, trucks, boats, planes, helicoptres, ships, mopeds, chainsaws, motorcycles, ultra-lights and you name it, nearby or at best heard in the distance. No path is left without it’s set of wheel tracks, narrow, wide or single. No forest has been left alone to thrive on its own.
I am here. In this world. Caught in a web, forced to participate. There is no escape. Whatever I do I somehow and to some extent participate. So I do, unwillingly, but still, and I do free from feelings of guilt or shame. I know that I must. So I participate. I however also participate in the work to ensure the survival of our species and of the old secrets. Whatever happens, nothing really matters as long as our species and the old secrets survive – and they will – in a world that always rejuvenates itself.
Keep wading through the shit that this world produces. Endure the stench. Persist. Cronos (“time”) will change it all for the better, and we will soon enough again live in a world that does not demand from us that we shit where we eat and piss where we drink. In the meanwhile think of what is to come. Live not for today, but for tomorrow. Live not for you, but for your children. We are lost, soiled by this sick world, but our children are not. Plant trees under whose shade you shall never sit.
HailaR WôðanaR! HailaR HaimadalþaR!
