“Heaven and earth aren’t humane.”—Daodejing
“Faeries dance in the meadow and the leaf-crowned Nacken plays his fiddle in the silvery brook.”—Stagnelius
Let us reject the classic anarchist motto “no gods, no masters,” and proudly declare that the Earth and it’s Spirits are our Gods and Masters. By what right does humanity claim its independence from the forces? What on earth does humanity have to show for itself to justify its defiance of the universe? Techno-industrial society is the promethean power that seeks to supplant the primordial divinity. To speak of freedom is the height of human vanity and to desire freedom truly shows how far from the path we have strayed. Standing upon the stormy cliff, you raise your voice to an ocean of deafness and indifference.
What is freedom but separation and exception? This does not apply to me, nor this. I follow nothing but the waves of my desires. Only I mistakenly believe that they are mine to claim even as my body is dashed to pieces upon the flinty shards of rock. Foolish, your desires are no more your own than the air you breathe. Your desires are constructed and sold to you and do nothing but manipulate, pollute, and reduce you. They drive you into the ground and enslave you even as you strut and crow like a rooster.
Better to long for the bonds of place and reverence that we all once possessed and were possessed by. Give us the rites that consecrated the gifts of the earth and tied us to its honor! Make us feel how small we truly are before the might of the cosmos! Show us that the path to strength lies, not in asserting our separation from the flowing of the myriad things, but in joining with the ten thousand flowers that bloom from the depths and then sink again into nothingness.
Let us make ourselves fools to be wise and twisted to be straight and cloudy to be seen. A furious, shouting thing that strives to assert its independence and pride proves nothing but its weakness and impotence. The greatest power comes from forsaking it entirely. In a world of sharply radiant diamonds, let us be clothed in rags and wandering forever among the dust, tracing the way with our forgotten footsteps.
Know that your glory is like a valley, not a proud peak. Be the softness through which the river passes on its way to the endless sea. Fall into forgetful sleep. The more we can forget, the more we can regain. We must shatter entirely in order to be whole.