Rapatap the birchsap tap rap ...☺️

The birds were singing and the sun was oh so warm. After all the cold and the shite happening all over the world this was really soothing. The woods are calling, and obviously I heed the call. 

What really feels great is that my sentiment of "why bother?" does not involve anything woodsy, crafty or natural. These things still give me the motivation to get out of bed, so to say. Because they make sense. Obviously, I am fucked, but on each outing in the woods I learn more how the woods work. Of course, they are in a sorry state, what with climate change killing fir, spruce, birch and beech, and I plant as many trees as I possibly can, but yup, we are ruled by idiots. That said, I left the politics at home. The birch sap is rising, and I like birch sap. ☺️ 

This creek is running with more water than it has in the last five years. This gives me a lot of hope, actually, that even if we get another summer of draught eventually, the new trees will eventually recuperate. As is, the woods are radically changed. 

The first spring blossoms, too, and something tasty to boot : Violets (viola, in German :Veilchen), with an anti - bacteria - effect, blood - cleaning, calming and anti - inflammatory. Also you can make a tasty tea or spice from it, a wonderful cordial and it goes into my "lawnmower - mead" 😁, Methubrawri in the language of the Dhiudhai na nÍamparaï, a mythic people I invented. Invented the language as well, BTW. ☺️ 

Now if the trees all die, how can he possibly tap a birch, some may ask. First, I very much know what I am doing, and all the trees I tapped are even now still alive, but then there was that stump of a recently felled tree, where the sap rises really strong. So strong in fact, that there was a rare bushcrafty treat. 

But first things first, out came the tools. 

And in no time the birch was on tap. 

In the meantime, I collected some last Chaga (Innonotus Obliquus, in German :Schiefer Schillerporling). And sat down to really savour a sip of tea made from rowanberries and roasted and dried apple I foraged in autumn last year. 

 On the detour then I was in for my treat... Some chunks of frozen birch sap.

It was a really cool outing. Well, pardon the pun. But actually, I could wish for little more. Sipping your sap and your tea from a gukši you have made with your own hands with a knife and a carving hatchet you have forged yourself while preparing the Chaga you have just collected in a dish you have made with your hands is more than just comforting. It is not only strangely soothing in a world gone stark raving mad, it is empowering. Everything of these items was made from junk. From scraps of steel to scraps of wood to food most people do not see. And it is all connected. 

We all need to change. Well, I never belonged at all, so maybe I can exclude myself a bit. A bit, because I still have to learn a lot. Most people think this means a loss of quality in life.

Personally I think, the opposite is true. This is how life is meant to be. I do not say this because I were a guru or something. We need less gurus and a lot of more common sense. It is nothing esoteric or philosophical. It is just getting the good stuff in, and then have a cuppa of the good stuff. And the good things are estimated as junk, and noone cares. But I do. 

I, for one, came home deeply content. It was a feeling you got when you came home as a kid and got a hot cocoa made by your mother. Only that my mother is dead now and I get that feeling in the woods. There is so much good in the world. We need to learn to appreciate more and learn to be humble and grateful... As we were as Kids, when we got our hot cocoa made by our mothers. 

And it feels plain and it feels good. 

Where I wander in silence there is no significance

 The world has gone mad. PERIOD. I do not have anything else to say about this fact. Everyone knows it, and no one cares.

And I find I get ever more detached from the madness. I simply cannot find it in me anymore to muster any more hope or despair. I don´t care about those madmen like the Turkish dictator, or the Russian one or those American ones or the German ones. They are but flesh, and it is rotting while they jibber and jabber and scream and fight and writhe like a can of worms. Even if you go down below the ranks towards communal politicians or even my fellow humans, some few exceptions notwithstanding, and if you are not completely addled in your brain, you cannot but shiver with disgust.

I do not want to bore you with the details of a childhood of being mobbed, a hard time at Kindergarten and school and apprenticeship, and how I overcame the fuckers at the university because I was the best. You know the details of me offering my help and getting driven out of the projects I started, even my own club I helped found and all the smithies except the Bethaus where some fuckers wanted to drive me out. It is happening again, of course.

But it is of no significance.

The sun shines into the twilit woods. And twilight, the namesake and the name, calls me, violently. No, I even do not need to rant on about how the twilight soothes my soul. It does, but it is of no significance. The words do not make any difference. Words are the utterance of a species about to die out, fortunately. My soul will wander on, and I look forward to the freedom of unlimitedness, of space and time, of becoming a new kind of species. Do not get me wrong; I am really enjoying my life, and it´s good to feel alive. And while it feels alien to me, to become so detached from all this foolishness, it actually feels good. For my sentence is not spoken by their behaviour anymore. They can affect my life, true, but I will manage, as I have always done. But they will ultimately kick the bucket. And not because some obscure deity will smite them down with lightning, but because they organized their own rout by their shortsighted greed for success. But even this is of no significance.

Words do not make any sense here.  

 There is a creek. It murmurs silently.

 It flows, hidden in the thicket, and a song it sings. If you listen and do not need it to give you any significance, it starts to make perfect sense. It pulls you, and takes your spirit away to tranquil worlds where the cogs still fit into each other... and the secret is, that those are the worlds that create ours, not the worlds of human makebelieve where people put lots of energy and effort into hunting illusions, and buying and selling them.

 No pokemon whatsoever, see? But see the sprites?

 This world of trees is full of light and shadow. Sometimes it is cruel, and pain is an integral part of it, but so is joy... and since both of them are of equal significance, they lose significance... while gaining sense.

 The forest does not care about what it grows over. It simply does so. Significance is not even erased, it has no part in it. Yet sense has.

 Maybe it can be said that way: There is a cauldron full of swirling subsemantics, hurling, swirling, whirling about like a wildwind. We live in this cauldron called life, and speech and social consent have been the vectors for us to find a direction in the subsemantics. One by one, these vectors have been corrupted by lunacy and madness, and we are left with fear of the subsemantic, of the spaces deep, where dark things lurk... we have no longer faith or a belief, but religions that tell us what to do. Even mammonism is a religion, and Mammon reigns supreme. Death-in-life is his gospel, and to achieve this, he feeds us lie after lie, illusion after illusion. The mind is the destroyer of reality, but the mind is all that is permitted to believe in.

There actually IS a way out. It is a leap of faith, but it´s still here. If you are brave enough to jump into the abyss of the subsemantic, you can find sense still, not significance.

 And the forest grows silently.

 It is still solemn, and silent, and yeah...

 ...I have learned it can provide even for half-mad humans. ;-)

 And hope and fruitfulness prosper in the twilight.

 You can find herbs to cure depression...

 ...and flatulence :-)..

 Under the leaves of the strong-armed guardian of the gate,

 ...you might find rest on St.Mary´s bedstraw.

A lot of sense, and healing-but no significance.

Check. This. Out.

I stumbled across this blog here.

If you do not shy away from thinking, and thinking consequentially and even radically, this might be the cake.

There is also the "dark mountain project". Its manifesto you can read here.