I know a plethora of wise men and women who could run the world, but instead contend with ennui and the minutiae of life. Some witness the injustice of the world but turn away, busy with riddles that need no immediate answers. As if they were not keenly aware of the way that power flows and could call down storms in their fury, as if they weren’t children of the gods and marched with an invisible shining host. I talk to them, tonight.
Brothers and Sisters, you have learned to be helpless and it does not suit you.You’ve let the Smoking Mirrors fill your vision. There is a cloying, tender web around your limbs that kills the impulse to shout and march resplendent in your glory.
You forget that our ancestors of blood and spirit practiced the art of cunning only to save themselves in a hostile period, because survival was an act of defiance. Now that we’re here, free to live in the light, the art of cunning must enable more than mere survival.And, often, it dances with the spark of possibility–gone unclaimed for too long, now.
Our work has always run counter to blind obedience and established dogma. For centuries, even in oppressive silence, our ancestors worked their magic for the underdog and desperate. They did the work of saints with herbs and stone and mysterious prayers locked up in little jars, then walked off into obscurity. Our forebears won battles against the demons of abuse and addiction, depression and all manner of illness. They stormed into grand homes and broke the chains of patriarchy by way of serving Justice.
We are still that same people, though wrapped in the timid cloak of modernity. After a lifetime of indoctrination, our wild spirit has been quelled and taught to act within the lines. We turn the wheel for the sake of a myth that keeps us bound and immobile, deaf to the cries of our Siblings and Great Mother, casting meek spells for infinitesimal results.
Perhaps, this is the moment we tear off the blindfold and break the shackles of propriety. Our Mother’s cries couldn’t be louder: Her children are vanishing, Her fever is rising, Her ice is melting faster than ever before, Her blood is turning to acid, Her wilderness and dependent species are dying.
Perhaps you know this already and have become one of many shocked and paralyzed witnesses to our modern catastrophe. Perhaps you donate to different groups, but watch them go nowhere, accomplishing such modest goals that surely the rate of destruction must outstrip our hard-won victories. It is true that we’re fighting a Great Beast with many heads and many mouths, all spewing the waste of industrialized society into a fragile world… But the world yet remains. Our time is not over.
Nothing will be possible if we start from a place of meekness, accepting the lie of powerlessness that has been sold to us for so long. We are strong. All the world’s history is our lesson, and all the wisdom of ourkind stands ready to serve us. We must first stand strong within ourselves, find then take the fire.
The Pagan Environmental Alliance is young and its reach is limited, but we embody the ideas stated above. Above all, we believe the time for indecision is over. The time to act is now!