There’s a tale that’s told around fires in the future. It goes something like this:
It was the time of the Great Unravelling, when the greatest schemes and plans of puffed-up men were playing out as anyone with any sense knew they would. Hills and trees and Earth’s precious minerals were being devoured ever faster. Rivers and seas were filled with a toxic soup, the waves knee-deep in plastic pieces.
There was not a corner of the world that could escape the onslaught. As the clock ticked on the shelf, each tock sounded the death of another animal species, another forest felled. The Earth shuddered, the skies darkened, even the weather was wild.
In this time, there were some who knew, some who dared not look, some who were so wrapped up in their daily life, they hardly even noticed.
And there were those who were caught in the thick of it. They fought to protect their land, to save their sacred places, to stop their islands from drowning. For years they carried on, unheeded, teaching their children the ways of Nature, struggling to protect what was precious.
In the very heart of the death-machine, in the places that had planned and executed the conquering of the Earth, in the cities of glass and steel, built on the bones of slavery, plantation people and factory workers, a band of peaceful warrior started to emerge.
They had decided enough was enough. They declared a rebellion against the extinction-machine. They took to the streets. They occupied the capital, shut down the offices, sang songs of love for wild ways.
They did it again. And again. Hoping someone, somewhere would listen. Hoping the ones who had their hands on the controls would turn the machine around or shut it down.
But it did no good. Or it was too late. Or maybe the machine was just out of control. Maybe no-one knew how to stop it for good.
Some of the Rebels decided to try something else. They would carry on with the protest, carry on shouting from the rooftops. But they did something else too. In the time of the Great Pause, when the Crowning Virus swept the world, they realised that Mother Earth was showing how she could heal herself. When the cars and planes stopped, when the factories closed, when the ships were tied up in port, she sent animals throughout the cities. She cleaned the air and made the rivers run clear again.
The Rebels noticed and decided to follow her lead. They planted food forests in the heart of the machine. They joined together to build communities that looked out for each other. They sat around the fire, as we’re doing now, telling tales of how they would work hand in hand with the peoples from other lands who had been doing this same work for as long as anyone could remember.
They made a pact - to never take power over each other, or any other, to walk in step with Gaia’s Lore, to act in all ways as if the Time of Now was with them then.
For many years they planted forests, grew food and shared whatever they had. They took over empty buildings to house the homeless. They converted dirty factories into places to learn and grow. And most of all they sang. There was a song for every occasion - for the death of each species, for the joy of labour, for birth and death, each season, each cycle of the moon. Their songs sang this world we now have into being.
There is one song we sing now, you’ll know it. It’s one we heard them sing about this time we're in. We sing it as often as we can, so they can hear it and follow its tune to reach us here.
-------------------------------------------------
Chris Taylor is author of The Tao of Revolution.