Dienstag, 9. Juni 2015

Those twilight realms I tread

 It is funny. No really, it is.

Again, life found it in itself to give me a right kicking up the spine. Again I relied on human beings. Again I was going awry. Again I felt like an old rag doll kicked into the corner. Nothing new, business as usual. Again I thought friends would be friends. Again I packed my things and went away, not willing to become the monster within.

This time something was different, however. It took quite a long time until I found my way to the woods again. To me it is a sign I have to be vigilant. A sign that my energy is running out.

But there is a grain of light in my soul, of adamantine countenance. It is not my own, but that above all human beings. Call it as you like, but it gave me a kicking in its own right, and so I packed my gear and went out into the one place where the deceiver does not reign. Where there is war, and peace, and love and fury... and the light is dim and calm. There´s no paradise in the woods. There is fighting, and fierce fights that lead to death. There is love also, and everything fits into each other like key to keyhole.
 The woods were filled with the vibrant light I love so well. I trod carefully, silently breathing. I encountered wild rams and Sika deer and red deer. Two hares chased each other down the hillside and almost ran full-tilt into me. A buzzard bore down upon an old tree stump and looked into my eyes, just some five to ten metres away from me.
 Fierce. Savage. And...small.
 And oh so great the trees still grow shadowy leaves that danced in a gentle wind.
 Strong and gnarled are their roots and work their way even through the grey stone.
 Crushing, smashing rock and stone by year after year of forceful growing.
 These halls have an answer not given, a lock without a key.

 The place beside the well where I can hide away and sink my roots into the ground, drinking thirstily from the green fire that feeds my soul...
 That place has never changed, for it has never been or will ever-and yet, it is there. he who has to ask, will get no answer from a lock without a key, he who knows, need not ask.

And thus I drank deep from the cauldron of green fire.

The joke about it all is that those who want to rid of me will never succeed. And still they try and exhaust their life upon a wall of rock.

Even if they would lay low all the forests in the world (what they certainly would like to do), these pictures I will keep within my heart of hearts and they will never be lost.

But also funny is that I nearly forgot. Let that be a warning to you:

Never forget the woods. If they bear hard down upon you with the weight of their desire, smile.

And remember what is your right and heirloom: To run with the wolves and crush the rocks with gnarled and scarred roots. To drink deep from the green cauldron of the force beyond the yoke.


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