I
speak for the land.
I
have raised myself up and laid myself low, creating mountains and meadows, and
furrows where the water runs to form creeks and rivers. Living creatures die to me, and I take them
into myself that their bodies may nourish future life. I provide food for all, even for the animals
that other animals feed upon. Such is
the cycle of life.
Now,
humans have built fences on me, of wood and wire, of roads of crushed stone, of
steel rails laid on wood. Now the herds
of creatures can no longer wander freely, imprisoned by these fences, which cross the places where once
the herds and the humans wandered freely.
The
humans have done this, in the name of something they call “private property.” They trade pieces of paper and put up signs with the words, “No
trespassing”. They kill or imprison all
who, without their permission, wander onto the land they think they own.
Private
property.
Private.
They
are indeed a private race, walled into their small definitions of who they are,
living in fear behind their self-built fences, suspicious of any wanderer that
they perceive as an invader.
They
themselves have forgotten the Way of the Wanderer. Their little “private” properties
are their fortresses and their prisons.
How little freedom they allow themselves. They equate “freedom” with the right to shoot
an intruder, human or non-human.
Would that they could all wander freely on me! But the notion of wandering is abhorrent to them. This they do not see, nor do they want to see it. Each one is isolated from all around them, frightened of the others, willing to do harm to fellow brothers and sisters, the beasts, the plants, the rivers, the forests – even the mountains.
I,
the Land, am not private. Nor am I
property. You shall see and know that
this is true.
