The Free Radical

The languid meanderings of Time’s convoluted flow had brought this moment as an opening– a glimpse into forgotten truth. It seemed that all of Earth’s local denizens had come to bear witness, to hear Master Red-Tail’s oration.

I should have known that the last to the ‘feast’ would be Vulture– so used to being the cleanup crew.

They came up from the river-valley bottom, circling as a tight group of seven… and finally spreading in every direction– only five caught in frame here, though. (The mathematics of Earth includes only seven numbers, one for each direction: north, south, east, west, up, down and inward. Anything beyond the seven directions was empty speculation… mental masturbation. The Earth Mother had never bothered with calculus!)

Master Red-Tail was perched in his favourite tree. The Forest donned a respectful hush, as all strained to listen… After all, this was the fate of their shared world!

Even ancient junipers were totally on edge; there was something about this moment– a bound infinity like no other– when Time itself expected to pivot, like a whole new trajectory begun…

Master Red-Tail surveyed the crowd at a glance. Satisfied, he began. “When the StoryKeepers were systematically eliminated, destroying the oral traditions, the remnants of the Old… and the seeds of the New Humanity were wholly at the mercy of the HistoryMakers. They hadn’t yet realized that, disconnected from Earth through recent traumas, they possessed no means to verify the perfidy of linear time. Without Earth’s own infallible record of all that had transpired here, they were like denuded actors begging for a costume and a script.”

He glanced across the river to the Hoodoos, the silent throng still bearing witness to an ancient defeat… and then continued. “The last of the former StoryKeepers became the Ancient Sorcerers, of a necessity. They kept alive the Old Ways– in secret– for as long as they could. They took up the warpath of knowledge, trying in vain to reconnect their brethren to Earth’s golden umbilical, so that the truth might at the very least always be felt. But the infiltrators– the HistoryMakers– were many. And they were disconnected from any obligation to Living Spirit. They roamed the planet like voracious ghosts, sowing fear in every war-ploughed land. They buried crystals and memories from distant worlds, supplanting Earth’s uniquely sacred universal role as equalizer, healer… as Holy Lover.”

The Master continued. “Eventually, even the ranks of the Ancient Sorcerers were divided… and the Earth magic required unity– not conformity, but a unity of belief and purpose. Earth’s true purpose had been stolen and buried.

“The most adept were systematically separated out from the rest, standing them in fear, loneliness and heartache. In that moment of usurped time, there was nothing they could do to fight back anymore…

“…but still they knew their time would come, humanity’s time… Earthtime. So they retreated deep within the Earth, leaving only earthen tombstones as reminders that they would arise again… just as surely as the erosive forces scoured the surface, eventually they would stand tall and proud again!

“Make no mistake! They are here among us now, as stones and trees, as birds and bees, as the sacred Love reawakened in humanity! The riddle is solved from the inside. Where the outward gaze sees only the endless recoil from destruction, the inward-looking eye finds resolve and remedy, peace and healing… for all are so very tired, and simply long to return Home.

“A Mother forgives… and her child seeks her embrace… and everything is resolved in that!”