Chapter 7
You walk with Hugo, Bathala and Dr Roberts to meet some of their friends at their camp site. Hugo tells you that there are many animals near their campsite. He tells you that he and his friends run several sanctuaries out of old ranches…that they bought tracts of remote lands for pennies on the dollar but that they come to the parks because the forests and remote wilds are true and living ecosystems where they release some of their animals.
He works and sleeps among them. At the edge of a nearby eddy he and his friends have built several small Roman houses of their own, with handmade bricks and camouflaged them somewhat under pine needles. Here, on their trips they conduct brutal workouts.
The men insist on declaring gratitude to the Sun and the governing forces of this wilderness by way of offering physical perfection.
They believe that we are all deformed, even the best among us…that ancient men had skulls with eye sockets like Locs sunglasses and bone structures that make Olympic athletes look like rickets patients.
But they do their best to honor their place. This is duty.
There, with a few TRX bands, some old barbells inside wooden racks and various Atlas stones, they exercise daily.
Hugo is always there first when it is dark and his dreams have prompted him to fantastic and often terrifying thoughts before the dawn of day….it is then he begins his exercises. Often, a mountain panther that roams the trees nearby comes to observe him.
This brings him immeasurable joy.
Today he works out in the shadows of a majestic sunset.
You observe this. You walked toward the river to take a drink. You look at a median bank in the middle of the creek. Hugo is there. He is nude, lifting a large basketball sized rock above his head repeatedly.
He pauses.
The panther emerges from the trees along the bank behind him, his shoulders hulking as he crouches as if about to pounce. He has an explosive energy...the kind that can overcome powerful and fast prey....the kind that allows him incomparable lightning quick attacks and total patience even after days without food. He is pure will. He possesses an undiminished capacity for excellence and power even in dire circumstance. This is a power unknown to even the strongest men. This is why men have desired his power since their earliest encounters tens of thousands of years ago. They once knew the only way to have this was to ask…to plead to merge his soul with this powerful animal. This required to give a great offering.
As Hugo lifts, the hair begins to stand on his neck and his eyes widen. You want to warn him but you see something in his face, his presence that shows that he knows the panther is there. Hugo lifts again this time with more intensity, speeding up his repetitions. He is growing tired. He sets the rock down and turns toward Panther. He flexes as he locks eyes with the predator. Panther doesn't move. He concentrates, he asks if Panther approves. He asks him if he recognizes his own beauty and strength in the naked man set before him.
Nothing.
Though exhausted, Hugo sets down the stone and completes 40 pushups. He gets up and puts one foot onto the small round boulder and flexes until he is shaking, veins bulging from his neck. Tears stream down his face as a deep growl escapes his clenched teeth.
The panther stands from his crouch...his eyes relax and after a few moments lets a low growl. Hugo is faint and nearly breathless now as though a divine power has passed through him, or possessed him through some type of spectral animation. But he feels a calm power come over him. He looks up to find Panther staring again before looking down and away, and then recedes into the dense forest.
Panther approves.
As the day grows to an end you gather near a great fire with Hugo and the men.
Hugo stokes the large fire that you gather around.
He tells you that this is the age of religion again because all human epochs are religious ones.
A lot of people will tell you they’re not religious, but they all are, only the software is different. He tells you humans are hardwired for it like the apes who worship trees with ritual rocks and elephants who bury their dead and celebrate the lunar cycle through dance and ceremony.
No one has a choice.
The most powerful religion today is the religion of technological worship and the necessary transformation of mankind through the suppression of nature. This faith is the mother to the thousands of cults that batter the human psyche with their inane dogmas to denature humans and place their incessant and exterminationist demands on the physical space required for correct, natural life.
He tells you this is a great calamity.
He tells you that the ancient Germanics were a forest people. That “Forest” and “temple of worship” were the same word. They couldn’t conceive of a difference between the two. They worshipped the forest. Tacitus commented how certain tribes bragged of having not slept indoors for centuries. They knew that each type of tree was alive with a certain race of spirit. If some blasphemous man peeled the bark from a tree, they cut out the skin from his navel and placed it as a bandage on the tree for amends to its spirit. He then had to walk around its base until his entrails spilled, forming a circle. This was true morality. This is what they believed.
But now modern Germans have a word they call “waldeinsamkeit” it means the feeling of being alone in the forest. An ancient German would never have thought this….for he knew he was never alone there. Romans marched through the ancient forests and found them terrifying and desolate places where the sun hadn’t penetrated in centuries…a place where even their mighty Gods feared to tread…A place where they could march for months at a time toward the Rhine but never see the sky.
He stokes the fire again, throwing a fresh log that begins to crackle.
You tell him about your vision…about Prince, and your dog…and now he tells you his.
He tells you that in a Hercynian forest he slept underneath the mighty bows of a tree older than any language spoken today. A tree that saw Caesar, its trunk used as a scratching post by long extinct animals, a tree that is father to an entire forest ecosystem.
This tree talked to him in his sleep with a pure telepathy…spoke to him directly, undiluted by the low resolutions required for communications between modern human minds.
He tells you this tree showed him a great vision…a cat cub with forearm sized fangs grows from the ice. He is cloned by men who give up their feeble arrows and use a great weapon of garbage world against itself. He suckles colostrum from old circus Tigers and grows to the size of a family sedan. He takes over cities and haunts the corridors of commerce. He guards the new ruins as they are taken by ivy and ferns. Human outposts designed for consumption in an age without natural competition are no match for the fires of his will.
He is joined by horned mammoths, dire wolf packs and 14 foot tall bears, they are insatiable and their eyes recede under brow lines that can break through door frames as though they were match sticks.
At first dozens, then hundreds. Thousands fill enclaves in the land out of the reaches of ZOG. Bison, hawks, Pleistocene specimens that screech like airliners and hit shantytown debris homes like wrecking balls. He tells you that soon they will return to the wilds but first to the offices of NVIDIA, to the habitat of the supercomputer, the highest powered processors on earth. It is a delicate building. Soon, the high frequency, genome disintegrating hum of the 5G will be drowned by his bellows.
He tells you there can only be one roar across the land, and it must be theirs. He tells you that a single claw through the coolant towers of even a handful of power substations will destroy most of the modern population.
He tells you that the thumos of the old growth is stirred now. It guides the hand of a forest man. His hand is yours...and the many others who come to the woods. It tells them not to run away from their fate, not to live and seek refuge in the temple of the forests but in the cities as both its architects and its destroyers….to visit sacred oaks but return to the squalor of man’s garbage dump with fire and ice alternately coursing from their hearts.
This is his vision.
This great gift was given to him…and now to you.
He stands in front of the fire as it rises with the new wood that has been added.
He tells you that big arrow men in pleated relaxed fit pants and wire rimmed glasses snicker about tree hugging but that these trees have powerful spirits that live in their roots.
He tells you that the true power of nature can never be overcome by the loathsome specimen of the men you see today…Weak chinned hedge fund managers and turtle necked bureaucrats with Fraser spirals for eyes who pillage the land during AEI conferences and in the after parties at Davos and Heritage Foundation mixers. The men who direct the soft plasticene sons of Piney Point and the sundry Silicon Valley mafias into strategies of destruction, domestication and surveillance.
The men with manicured Dan Crenshaw beards, clad in Vineyard Vines...they have the eyes of timeshare salesmen and teeth crafted into unholy symmetries. They believe in the religion of the rancher, the clear cutter. But their gods cannot protect them from what is coming.
The old Slavs believed that the powerful spirits must be honored. A cut tree must be covered with a blessed heavy rock to keep the spirit from returning and haunting the people.
He tells you that for a long time now, these men have cut these forests and that they mock the spirits. That they have turned the homes of mighty deities into support beams at renovated Starbucks and floor planks in treeless, desolate sub division homes. But that they have left the old roots uncovered…that they only believe in Economy and now these spirits are free.
The ancient Germans called them die Waldgeister.
And now, they are angry and they will join when you enter the wood. But most importantly they will go with you when you leave. To the Germanics, the God of the Forest is also the God of silence…and revenge.
He looks into the fire and you see the reflections of the flames in his eyes.
He says this is a crucial era for the forests…for the spirits and for life itself.
He tells you the Chinese and many rootless bio-firms are creating Burroughsian CRISPR abominations. He tells you that they are crafting a race of humanoid mandarins to rule over consumer subjects. They are docile and engineered to the specs desired by state systems and big arrow model minority fetishists…those who desire blank Anglo eyes tucked into the epicanthal folds of an eternal grazing class of legalized Tiger children.
He tells you how they are being crafted to administer a vast program of terra-deformation, to do the work of Economy…to hold down the pillow over the face of nature for the inheritance.
The choking ocean, defiled mountain, the clogged and septic river all stare back at this creature...searching for eyes that were seen in the ancestors, who remember the great bounties they were given, that remember it’s wonders, its holy groves… but it can’t find the hunter or the grandfather alive in the eyes of this vessel…only the icy machinations of a trans human state servant, an unknown and transient stranger.
For these perversions have no spirit animal…no blood exchange with the land or its creations…they are a warehouse people whose origin story is that of an entity…borne of desires of monetary exchanges. A grey and pathic human skinsuit race created solely to hunt the fleeting pleasures that only Economy can give them.
He tells you that men of power must now offer to return great favors given to the ancestors. This is honor. This is the way forward.
He tells you they have seeded thousands of acres with redwoods and pines. That they have many animals at their refuges. Predators. Wolf packs that patrolled the edges of his frontier. Reclusive lynx, Siberian Tigers, and many Leopards, all extracted from the ruins of modern encroachment. They trained these animals not to obey...but disobey. To make the land savage and teeming with life and struggle. The very kind being levelled by the monstro-Cities of Economy. The kind of harshness that balances the world and forges the bonds of the few men who partake in it crucibles.
This place, in a land nestled in the passes of mountains, unreachable by the drones was nestled in a pass between two large mountains, one of them sheer faced.
You hear a bellow.
A rumbling growl that shakes the night and causes a great silence. Robert’s bear warns you...
It is then that all of you hear a distant buzz that grows louder. Then the unmistakable sound of the back-up beep of a squadron of bulldozers reverberates across the valley.
Brilliant and visionary. I hope this will appear in book form when finished