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Mittwoch, 13. September 2017

Cookies, tea, and steel ;-9

 A shitty day at work. An extremely shitty day at work. One of these days when you start to believe what your "fellow humans" tell you that you are. So, what to do? Off with me to the bus that´s bound for the countryside, bound for the woods. Walking through the green, feeling the earth underneath my feet, my disgust was immediately replaced by a sense of puzzlement. What the f*** do we think we are up to? What is it that is truly better than nature? Why do we still assume we are the crown of creation? Everything was like it always were, but there, in the ground, I immediately found this heart-shaped piece of bloomery steel that had waited there for hundreds of years, weathered and worn by the soil, rusted, pitted and torn. It told a tale to me.
 It was sometimes raining, sometimes the sun came out... but in the halls of the forest it mattered little. There was a serenity again under the stems and trunks of trees, that simply soothed my soul. Then it is that thought subsides; then it is my soul is soothed.

Vibrant was the light that fell through leaves still green; still it is summer, but all too soon it will all be gone. The season is rising in the heart of the soul. Not the season we mark in a calendar, a season well marked out and calculated, but something deeper and wilder than thought, something that is rising now with the mist, silently, and somewhat eerily. It is autumn, and it flourishes and blooms in the mycel of mushrooms and the reddening of leaves.
 It prospers in a quality of light and a musky scent...
 It moves like the ripples in a root; like the grain in the wood. Damascus steel knows it; it sings of autumn.
 Silence; solitude...


There it is I grow. There it is I must not grow.
 ...
 Over old hills the clouds drove by like flocks of wicked dragons; wind was singing loudly in the treetops.
 And layer upon layer of the world of man was peeled off of my soul revealing that, what I really am and always will be.

 Not the mushroom, rotting and pitted...
 Not even the path through the woods.
 But all and everything.
 More profanely spoken, I got myself some ´shrooms for stew.
 And then, by an old cabin, I sat down and had a cuppa tea and a coconut cookie. It was a feast all for myself, in the silence and the solitude of my beloved woods, cradled by the song of the wind and the water.
 Sometimes I find it hard to tell, and feel like I would not care to bother anymore; the wind has no words, but tells every secret there is. The water murmurs in the stream and sings all the songs one could dream up. Why then should I still talk to humans? Even friends and lovers cannot understand me. Noone can, but still I keep talking gibberish that does not fill the bill, does not hit the mark, as one might want to say - but still I keep talking. I sometimes ask myself if this is depression... but on the other hand, I sleep most sound and well, and I do not feel sad apart from the usual sadness everyone has. As long as I am in the woods, I am even happy as one can possibly be. It is not that, it is something else. It is at the same time far more complicated and far more simple than we humans think. Our human world is a laughing matter for it. We are definitely not the crown of creation, we are weird, a shaved ape playing at being god. But I do not want to evangelize anyone. I would not bother. No human being, including myself, is worth a fuss.  
 For words like value and worth are just that: Words. It is not what there really is. There is a language behind any language, a language without words. The trees know it, the sun, the wind, the rain. The squirrell, the hare, the fox and the wolf. All of them still know it.
 I followed the whispers through the thicket, along trails seldom trodden....
 Over hill and dale I walked.
 And found some spring steel, lying ancient and forgotten in the soil.
Yeah, it is junk lying in the forest, but to me it conveys meaning. Sometimes, when I read "Game of Thrones" and the author talks about "valyrian steel" or "dragon glass" someone finds in the woods I am absolutely laughing my head off. For things like these happen to me in actual. The average reader of this novel would not even be able to recognize it. It´s junk to them. It does not convey meaning to them. They buy pink fluffy unicorns and GoT merchandise in order to compensate for their loss; the loss of magic and meaning and a connection to the world. But without the loss of words you cannot feel the magic... without magic, steel or even tea and cookies in the woods will not convey meaning to anyone.

Without meaning, our world will die.

Kommentare:

  1. Your woods seem so alien to me now, though I used to roam woods just like them years ago. I too like collecting wood treasure albeit of another kind; antler, bone, skull and feather.
    After reading Darwin, Dawkins and Hitchens I can only agree. We humans are a fleeting speck on evolution's timescale.

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  2. Words are, indeed, wholly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling, meaning and peace often found in the forest. My fellow Christians would mostly be confused if I told them that life always seems to make some sacred sense in the woods that is mostly missing in the rest of the world.

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Now go on, discuss and rant and push my ego;-). As long as it´s a respectful message, every comment is welcome!

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