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| Part of the Promise. |
He will never know about money or employment. He will work to gather his food—yes, but he
will never know about “employment” as we know it. He is employed by the life force to simply be,
and he spends his time in practicality maintaining that life. He will never know about wars or
propaganda. He will suffer no tension or
worry or anxiety. He knows nothing about
impressing others or about one’s station in life.
He will never get an education beyond what his mother taught him and
what he was born with naturally. For
him, the world is a set of trees and greenery and birds and food.
When about three summers and winters have passed, he will
die. There will be no funeral and no
mourning, no grave to mark his prior existence.
There will be nothing but the woods and more chipmunks and birds and
trees and food. If he could speak for a
moment, he might say that a short life lived in tune with nature at the expense
of no one else, and with abundance and peace and quiet intention, was worth
every moment and preferable to anything else.
If he could speak for a moment, he might say that, but it
is doubtful he would waste his words on what he has already clearly displayed
from birth to death. It is a tradeoff
that animals have made, an agreement forged in antiquity, from which they have
never deviated. Keeping the
ancient pact without regret or remorse or fear in a tiny section of the woods
in Maine.
