To Return To Strength

by Jake Arminius | Written: September 28, 2014

A people’ s roots are like a tree, deep and entwined in the soil of their land. When the tree is uprooted and planted elsewhere the roots grow in new soil, the tree becomes of it’s new soil forgetting the old soil. Generations lose connection to the old soil that made the tree. The tree lives on and new trees grow. When the wind blows through the leaves it sings a different tune. When it rains it drinks different water. The Spirit of the Tree in new soil, hearing new wind, drinking new water, is not the same. It has changed through environment, the home a memory. It feels different. It is sad, for a reason unknown. Hard it adjusts to the new soil. The happiness fades as the soul tries to reach out and feel the old soil. With tough bark it has courage. It passes the seasons living, doing it’s duty to nature. The forest is new, the sprouts young. Yet it is not the same, something of the old forest is gone. At night, in the breeze you hear a distant whisper. A whisper of longing of a return to the old soil. Of roots deep to the rock. The new forest without the ancestors is lonely without their whispers, it grows and loud are the voices of the young. They ask for stories, they ask of the Elders. They ask for heroes.

The Willow asks the Oak, grandfather what of the old day, of your Father? May we hear the wind from there, here? The Oak answers; no Willow for you are young and that place is far away. The soil is old and the wood is in it. The wind does not speak this far. The Willow asks the Oak, do you remember Father grandfather? Yes, Willow it was a long time ago in different soil. The wood fed our roots, the water we could taste with our leaves, the animals we sheltered under our limbs. We sheltered and watched the animals through many generations. We knew them. In time we will know these things in this new place. Oak, grandfather when will we go back? Never Willow for our roots are here now. Grandfather Oak this new soil is new like me. I want to know of the old soil. I want to learn the Wisdom from the old soil. I want to shelter the forest in friendship and kinship. I want to be Oak. Willow I’ am sorry for this soil is too new for you to be Oak.

To be a nationality you must live in the nation where the ancestors lived and died, where their memories live on as part of the land, where you can feel the spirit of ancestor and history lives in the rock. You can retain the ethnicity but you lose something when away. As the new place foreign and strange crowds out what the race experienced, as your soul learns new ways the old ways wither and die. What generations had built and passed on through literature, architecture, tradition, religion, genetics, become lost. The spiritual connection to land strengthens what has gone before in turn strengthening the present. This synergy between spirit and land forms a bond that shapes those who live in the land. Sever this connection there is a loss the soul feels, deep and hard to grasp. It searches for the familiarity of past bonds.

Tags: Prose, Nationalism

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