Just Keep Walking Bye
Just Keep Walking Bye
I’m beginning to wonder if we are gardeners of the planet who have misunderstood our part in the eco-system. A lifetime of factory, office work, driving a truck, working at sea, and a million other occupations and for what purpose? Birth, labour and taxes, death, all which is accumulated becomes someone else’s to squander. In two generations all which is left is gone. What a pointless exercise.
I suggest an African warrior/hunters existence contains greater pleasure and happiness than a millionaire drinking champagne on a seagoing yacht: And what is the response? Probably ‘apparent’ indifference. Most are openly caring for the plight of the warrior and secretly envious of the tycoon. A penny in the charity box and a vote for equality is the way we deal with conscience and suspicion of injustice.
There is a seed of truth within the idea of a race of gardeners. Although, society, and civilisation’s evolution dissolves any possibility of a human race dedicated to caring for the planet. The majority does not care and applauds and aligns themselves with the minority who are environmentalist. For example, everyone is shocked by the suffocating plastic saturated oceans, and most continue to fill shopping baskets with polymer water vessels. One day soon shoppers will pay twenty per cent of each grocery bill for eco-packaging: glass bottles and recycled paper packaging is the future. Once this is instigated: the oceans will have a reprieve. Money counts, money is the tipping point, money is the influence. What a paradox.
Could an individual be an ecological gardener? I suggest it is near impossible. Because every individual is forced to make a taxable contribution. Maybe rateable taxation on property. A contribution to health treatment, payment for water or drainage. In some way, the gardener will have pay for a service. Therefore the need to earn an amount of money is enforced. And with earnings comes taxes, with taxes comes to control, with taxes comes to waste, with waste pollution, with pollution comes death. Death of ethos, the death of reality. All becomes an illusion.
Unless of course, you’re the warrior/hunter, the proud man in his Savannah, the tribe member in his Amazonian forest. These humans are the last of the truth, real humans, knowing and understanding life purpose. Unfortunately, for the tribes, people have or are stealing their birthright. His land is stolen, and his tribe is cast to the winds.
Cast to the winds for your food, for your fuel, for your trinkets. Next time you fill your car with fuel, eat your imported fruit and meat, sigh at the sparkling carbon called diamond, pay fifteen grand for a gold watch. Remember, the cost is more significant than the money exchanges for the goods: The price is millennia of tribes and culture, their land, their birthrights.
ten-minute writing exercise