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Donnerstag, 14. April 2016

Those alien woodland worlds

 After a really shitty day at work I almost ran to the bus to get "out there". It was nearly a run into the thicket, where I at once had a sit-down and did some breathing to prepare myself to get into the woods. You do not want the filth "they" contaminate your soul with to bring along, don´t you? So I usually find it helpful to just do some breathing to calm down and realize their reign is broken beneath the crown of green.
 Under the holly bush, in the twilight of death´s shadow and the ever-sparkling vibrant life, the well renews itself with pristine power. Powerless is the world of fools, even if they could destroy the forest in the blink of an eye... for this is their defeat. And as life always regenerates in the woods, so my soul is soothed in the twilight realms of life and death.
 He who has to ask, will never understand; he who knows, knows not how to speak of it. It always sounds like the mumbling of a fool in the face of the forest. I got up and followed a path of childlike joy, balancing over moss-covered tree, over stump and rock and leaf and grass.
An old path I trod in my childhood lies there, overgrown now and lost to everyone but me and wildlife. Two young wild pigs burst out of the thicket, fleeing at first, but then stopping to look at me and sniff me out. Then, when I was already a bit freaked out, they just turned and casually strolled away. It was a beautiful feeling. A herd of deer strode through the woods at a distance, and the buzzard flew above, uttering his eerie cries.
Slowly and stealthily I trod the pathway towards the lake where I grew up.
It might be changed, but remains unchanged still.
The stump of a tree that fell when I was a kid now is host to young birches sprouting vibrantly the leaves of a new year´s life.
Deep blue the lake lay under a steely sky. The sun was warm and welcome after a long grey winter...
...and slowly and surely, the strange world become mine. Mine is the world of the root and rock, of grain and structures and the rustling of leaves. MIne is the path unseen. Mine is stealth and wildness...
With root and rock I wander along the ancient oaken ways deep in the grain.
The sun, warming, shines upon the pond, deep and dark, in the forest´s twilight secrets are kept...
..and treasures are found of iron and ore. In an ancient farmhouse´s ruin´s dumping site I found two wrenches and a lot of bronze.
Those are treasures of the deep, of death, and sing a violent song. And while the forest provides these, too, I also relished in the treasures of green.
Brought home some wild garlic for sandwiches;-).

It was an outing that let me utterly forget about what insanity does to us every day.

They cannot win. Not at all. Even if they destroy this world... the universe is far too big to destroy for them. They are alien to life and they are the bringers of doom; they are prey to the grey god, and, while evil, they are to be pitied.

The woods are alien, strange to mankind, and the animals shun those who are legion. When you rediscover the wilderness within your soul, you will be alien to man; but the forest will slowly, and silently embrace you.


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