We Prayed About Those Things

“Northernmost villagers with the exception of Death Clans avoided the Old Granite Range. They believed it too heavily populated by shades to ever enjoy any comfort or serenity. But anyone with a love for antiquity was grateful it was never overrun. They feared that the magic would shrivel and disappear if trampled by excessive human endeavor. The people here walked gently on the Earth, having already detected that little by little the enchantment was fleeing to the Shadowland. They understood that all would be turned outside in. Everything we regarded as sacred would vanish back to the spirit world from which it had emerged. This was the consequence of neglect and self-involvement turned aberrant. In effort to maintain some semblance of balance, old souls like Moondog and those born with ancient propensities made inordinate sacrifices. But they all knew in the deepest recesses of their hearts that their worship only delayed the inevitable end. The tide of technology would never be stemmed.

On our way Moondog and I stopped to pray about those things. He search a pouch and retrieved a sparkling, black glass shard, slashing his hand and allowing his blood to flow unimpeded to the Earth. I knew that he believed that somehow that simple act would make a difference. Witnessing his sacrifice made my heart hurt knowing that uncountable generations beyond him would suffer. Many would stand helpless or be victimized, even destroyed by the rape perpetuated against the Earth by those who wielded unnatural avarice. I hoped Moondog couldn’t conceive of the scope of the devastation that would reign down around the people after he was gone.

….But lamenting the future from here made no sense. After all, I had been assigned harbinger, conveyor of secrets from the past, clinging to the expectation that that might make a difference as well.”

Excerpt: Ancestral Airs: The Life Givers 1996, 2007

 




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