Dear Brother, of both Kindreds, Aug 10 2013
I grew up at my mother’s side. We lived on the eastern side of a mountain. By the time I was fifteen, I had come to know the facts of life. Our people were not responsible for a single modern convenience. Those came from the tribe that lived on the west slope. There was also some mention of a Golden Age in my people’s past, but that was millennia ago. I had the privilege of watching my brethren descend en masse into destitution, thievery – immorality in its many guises – a chaos that bound and enslaved us.
Repulsed by the thriving animal instinct here and lured by the order, freedom and justice there, my brothers had packed their belongings one early spring morning and began an exodus that would leave our villages bereft of most of the few remaining civilised people. The rest of us could not stand the chaos, but did not know what to do, so closed our eyes and pretended everythings alright.
We awoke after a generation, to find everything awry. The price of these conveniences had all gone through the roof, and in buying them, we had lost our souls and our pride somehow. Those brothers who had been in the exodus had also shut their eyes and wound up paying a series of prices they didnt even know existed. The prick of conscience of a land forgotten, or ignored, or spoken of with bittersweet sadness. People cloven as individuals, as well as a whole.
What remained to be done was for the tide of the exodus to be reversed. For some years now, there had been 2 trickles – one from the west, of those tired of prosthetics, who found peace in the words and works of the Bright Ones here. And another even smaller trickle of Bright Ones who went for the sake of those who knew not the way, to spread the glory and message of old.
But, everyone was playing the game of putting a price on every commodity, and on none was the price so high as on those tools and teachings that unclove the spirit. It seemed for a while that for every step taken forwards, we slid back a few. Then suddenly, we found our Mother had risen, and with a casual shake of her hand, had exposed the Fake Bright Ones and uncovered in us, the lost sense of pride, and love all-encompassing.
With arms outstretched, she embraced us all. She told us the secret that we had not always been two kindreds apart, and she welcomed back those westerners, and those west-dwelling easterners who of all it seemed had gone through the most horrible ordeal – that of amputating their homeland in their search for peace.
At the zenith of its flow, the exodus was turned. A hundred different movements began that systemmatically and lovingly changed the status quo. The animal instincts were humanized and the human instincts were hallowed and heightened.
Not everyone understood all these changes as they happened, but a few who had led the exodus felt a deep stirring in their heart, and paid heed to counsels they had not heard before. Some here were given an instinct they trusted and maybe some inkling of the days to come, but only as in a dream, a promise of tomorrow, but one that had to be built.
Rejoice they did in their work, those reunited brothers and sisters. For they trusted in the sense of vision of things to come, and fretted not at the travails ahead for they knew the strength of their numbers, the numbers of their Bright Ones, and the effulgence of their Mother.