New York City, 22 April 2030

Earth Day Should Be Every Day.

Speech by the US President to the UN General Assembly


Dear Mrs. Secretary General, dear Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen!
For the first time in human history, a female president of the United States of America is speaking to the United Nations. All over the world today, Earth Day is being celebrated – and so I want to speak to you as a citizen of the earth!
I’m sure you all followed the reports of yesterday’s Easter Mass in Rome and the celebrations that followed. Although I’m not Catholic, the words and images also moved me deeply. At first, the temptation was great to apologize here and now for the unspeakable suffering that was caused in the name of the White House. But unlike the Pope, I was elected by the people for a few years and, apart from that, I don’t identify with our previous administrations.
But I can follow the Pope’s example in a different way, and that is by bringing about change. Christ’s message 2000 years ago was about peace. One century ago, Gandhi said: “There is no way to peace, peace is the way!” Few took up this wisdom, one of them was Martin Luther King. Like Jesus and Gandhi, he was murdered for his ideals, but his great dream of a better world lives on to this day. Ladies and gentlemen, I think it is time to make this dream a reality!
Therefore, I am announcing to you the total disarmament of the USA! All nuclear and high-tech weapons have been dismantled and all armed forces have been converted into civil protection units. What has only caused death and destruction for so many decades should now help to reduce human suffering, nationally and globally!
Ladies and gentlemen, I am announcing to you the total nuclear phase-out of the USA! All power plants and and all nuclear fusion facilities have been shut down and replaced by unconditional access to Free energy.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am announcing to you the total recycling revolution in the USA! All mining companies have been banned and all mines closed. All drilling rigs and platforms have been dismantled and all refineries closed. What has been on scrap heaps and transported to poorer countries for decades is to be recycled from now on — along with military weapons!
Ladies and gentlemen, I am announcing to you the total devaluation of the US Dollar! All individuals and communities have been relieved of their financial debts. Private property has ceased to exist. It has become the highest duty of any citizen to help each other unconditionally.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am announcing to you the total organic farming in the USA! All chemical fertilizers and pesticides have been banned. All genetic laboratories have been closed and all manipulations banned. What has been treated like an experimental kit for decades is to be respected as inviolable from now on — because it is our Mother Earth!
Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to appeal to you to do the same. And if you want to forgive me a little bit of patriotism in conclusion: I hope that the motherland of modern democracy will soon become the motherland of world peace.
Thank you very much for your attention!

The warm-hearted vagabond

The warm-hearted vagabond

Once upon a time, there was a much-visited farm. It not only housed numerous animals but was above all the home of a large family. A strange family, however, because it only consisted of one generation – there were only brothers and sisters.

One day, a young vagabond came to the farm to experience community life. So he shared the work and meals with the family. One of the brothers was responsible for gardens and stables. Therefore, every morning after breakfast he announced what work needed to be done. Once the vagabond asked him,

“Why don’t we ever let the goats out of their little enclosure so they can jump around a bit?”

“Too much effort,” the man answered, “there are more important things to do!”

And the vagabond accepted that he had a rationalistic brother.

One of the sisters constantly complained that there were no regular celebrations. Once the vagabond asked her,

“Why do you want to party all the time?”

“Because I’m bored!”

And the vagabond accepted that he had a pleasure-seeking sister.

Another brother indulged in gambling as often as he could. Once the vagabond asked him,

“Why are you so drawn to gambling?”

“Because I enjoy it! I also want to win money to make my dreams come true!”

And the vagabond accepted that he had a brother who was addicted to gambling.

Every afternoon he used to go out into nature. While hiking he suddenly heard the voice of the hill:

“Hey boy! Why the rush? You won’t find what you’re looking for that way!”

The vagabond looked confusedly to the sky and shouted,

“Who and where are you?”

“I’m not that high, I’m the hill under your feet.”

After a few doubtful looks, the vagabond said confidently:

“Oh, dear hill! I have been living on that farm with the large family. There is no shortage of work or food, activities or entertainment. But the animals need more freedom and the siblings more affection.”

“That family,” answered the hill, “resembles a cart drawn by three horses, each in a different direction; and the coachman who was supposed to drive them is dozing off. Everyone thinks they are following their heart, but in reality everyone is following one of the three horses!”

“I don’t understand, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Spend more time on that farm and you will understand my words!”

In the following weeks, three kids were born among the goats and thanks to new people, the family also grew, so that the vagabond had to share his room with three newcomers. The first was very interested in farm animals and therefore took responsibility for the stables. Once the vagabond asked her:

“What are you hoping to find here?”

“The ability to protect myself: I always get into conflicts with others and would like to overcome them. Unfortunately, though, I never manage to defend myself.”

“I can hardly believe this. It couldn’t be easier to me!” said the vagabond, but he soon got to know her better and accepted that he had a vulnerable sister.

The second newcomer he shared the room with was asked by the vagabond,

“What are you hoping to find here?”

“The ability to self-motivate. There are so many things I would like to do. Unfortunately, though, I can never bring myself to do anything.”

“I can hardly believe this. It couldn’t be easier to me!” said the vagabond, but he soon got to know him better and accepted that he had a sluggish brother.

One sister was very generous with compliments and even though she slept in another room, she liked to snuggle up to the vagabond. Once he asked her,

“What are you hoping to find here?”

“The ability to listen. There are so many people I would like to get to know. Unfortunately, though, I can never bring myself to remain silent.”

“I can’t believe that. It couldn’t b—”, but she didn’t let him finish and so he accepted that he had a chatty sister.

The last person he shared the room with was a newly fledged girl. The vagabond showed her everything on the farm, answered all her questions, and it wasn’t long before she accompanied him on his daily hikes. Once she asked him:

“Why do you always move from one place to another like a vagabond?”

“Because I’m looking for something.”

“And that would be?”

“Humility.”

Since she couldn’t do anything with it, the vagabond explained it to her whereupon she said,

“There are so many words that I would like to know. Unfortunately, though, I have a hard time understanding them.”

“I don’t comprehend everything either,” said the vagabond, and in his heart he was happy to have a little sister.

One afternoon when he was hiking with the sluggish brother, the chatty sister, and his little sister, he suddenly realized what the hill had wanted to tell him. While his companions were resting a bit he secretly left to seek the hill. When he reached it he called out,

“Dear hill! Now I understand your words!”

“Very good! However, that is no reason to leave your companions alone! Return to them and tomorrow you can come before me with complete understanding!”

When he arrived at the farm the sluggish brother said to him angrily,

“You don’t do something like that!” – and disappeared.

Then the chatty sister approached him and exclaimed,

“We were looking for you everywhere, worried about you, where were you?”

After thinking for a moment the vagabond replied,

“My craziness called me.”

“Your craziness! If you want to be alone we would understand. But then you have to say so and we’ll leave you with your craziness! Sometimes I prefer to be alone as well. Do you want to be alone now?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied with a smile. A few questions and answers later, the chatty sister left him alone.

Later, the little sister asked him with an amused expression,

“Well, did you enjoy your trip?”

He nodded, and the girl continued,

“The others were extremely worried and insisted on looking for you. But I realized that there was no need. I was sure you knew what you were doing.”

The next day the vagabond went to the hill and said,

“Dear hill! The horses that pull the cart are anger, longing, and fear. The slumbering coachman is everyone’s spirit.”

“That’s the way it is! Now you have to wake them up!”

The vagabond reacted with surprise,

“I’m sorry, what? Why me?”

“So I can tell you where you can find what you’re looking for.”

After a pause of pondering the vagabond said,

“Everything has a price, right?”

“Only from a limited perspective for there is nothing to lose and everything to gain!”

“I do not understand that. What are you trying to tell me?”

“Spend more time on the farm and you will understand my words!”

Every week, the large family met in a meeting to discuss problems, feelings and thoughts. They then all sat in a circle around a candle and each individual had the opportunity to talk freely. The speaker held a gnarled branch decorated with four different feathers in his hand. When the vagabond’s turn came he unrolled a piece of paper and described an invasion of idealists of the heart. His little speech caused a lot of amusement and afterwards everyone applauded enthusiastically. The sluggish brother and the vulnerable sister expressed their gratitude in kind words. After the meeting the vagabond hugged them both and from the following day onwards, he greeted many of the siblings with a hug every morning. This quickly earned him a reputation as a warm-hearted brother.

At the next meeting, the brother who was addicted to gambling asked visibly nervously,

“Why do we always waste so much time on emotional chatter? I’m taking part in this meeting because of the important things of living together. I don’t care one bit about all the trivialities explained! The only one who has had something interesting to say so far is our warm-hearted brother!”

The vagabond smiled and said very calmly,

“Oh, don’t say things like that.”

The faces of the others betrayed the mood of their respective owners, and the majority expressed their displeasure. Only the sluggish brother and the little sister remained silent.

“If you want to continue like this, please do! But without me!”, the gambling brother interrupted the rant and left the meeting. In response, many said they felt personally attacked and called for his immediate return. A heated discussion broke out between these people and those who wanted to break off the meeting. Suddenly the vagabond spoke,

“Now there’s no point in talking because you’re angry. Let’s resolve this matter once everyone has calmed down.”

But hardly anyone agreed to this. So the gambling brother had to come back. After all the comments from the angry people, the idea was to restore harmony by having everyone look each other in the eyes while singing a song about universal love. Some, however, stared at the ground, especially the gambling addicted brother. After the meeting, the vagabond went up to give him a hug.

The gambling addicted brother looked surprised. Hence, the vagabond added,

“The first hug between you and me …”

“Then again!” replied the other and they hugged each other a second time.

But the vagabond felt that the other’s initiative did not come from the heart.

The following morning, the gambling brother announced that he would not eat, speak, or work for three days as a way to show his remorse. But the next day he went back to eating, talking, working – and gambling. The others now treated him with more respect but the vagabond sensed that their attitude did not come from the heart. He also sadly noted that the pleasure-seeking sister was able to convince more and more siblings to go to the tavern as often as possible to get drunk.

One afternoon, he went to the hill and called out to it,

“Oh, dear hill! Until recently I thought you were right because waking the family hasn’t cost me anything and I won all their affection. But it appears that their spirits have fallen into a new slumber!”

“Go away!” demanded the hill, “You don’t understand anything!”

A time of great reflection began for the vagabond. Day by day, he spoke less and avoided the company of others.

Conflicts arose more and more frequently between the rationalistic brother and the vulnerable sister who sometimes even cried. She soon decided to leave the farm. Someone else now had to take responsibility for the stables. Since no one seemed interested, the rationalistic brother tried to convince the vagabond.

“Don’t you care so much about the goats?”, he asked him.

But the vagabond replied,

“It’s no longer worth it as I’ll be moving on shortly.”

In the end, the little sister agreed to do the job. But it was a big challenge for her, and the rationalistic brother lacked patience. One day she came to the vagabond crying. He took her in his arms and said,

“Forgive him, for he is a slave to his mind. The whole family is enchanted; all believe they are following their heart. In reality, though, they are following their desires, indignations and fears.”

“What can we do to disenchant them?”

The vagabond looked toward the hill in the distance and answered in melancholy,

“I don’t know.”

Later on his hike, he suddenly heard the chirping of a bird in a treetop.

“What a magical song!” he said, walking up to it.

But as he approached the feathered creature flew away. This made the vagabond very sad, and remembering the hill’s words, “You don’t understand anything!”, he said to the bird,

“Fly in peace, messenger of heaven! Delight with your song someone worthy of this privilege!”

As soon as he had said this the flying singer returned to the treetop to continue its song. The vagabond listened with his eyes closed and thus gained an idea of eternity.

When the melody ended he went to the farm with tears in his eyes.

At the next meeting, everyone spoke again about their problems, thoughts and feelings. When it was the vagabond’s turn he said,

“I have been very thoughtful over the past few weeks. I felt that this family was lacking something. Therefore, it seemed that I was absent half the time. And yet, I haven’t felt excluded from anything. I owe this feeling to each and everyone of you!”

Afterwards, the little sister also expressed her joy as being part of the family.

Little by little, the behavior of the others changed. One morning, everyone formed a circle to say goodbye to the vagabond. He knelt down and said,

“IN THIS MOMENT we are spiritually awake! IN THIS MOMENT we can truly be. Thank you, my brothers and sisters!”

After a while he stood up, looked at everyone’s faces. Noticing a few tears he said,

“Soon, my body will be in a different place. When my spirit will leave you, though, is up to you.”

After lots of hugs and kisses, he set off for the hill. When he reached his destination he sang a song to express his gratitude. Then, he heard the words of the hill for the last time,

“You will always find what you are looking for within yourself. Farewell, dear son of man!”

And this time, the young vagabond understood.

NO WAY BACK FROM NIRAI-KANAI

NO WAY BACK FROM NIRAI-KANAI

As the editor, I hereby proudly present the first novel of my first mentor Daniel Liúshing Yokota (*1959). It is his fictional homage to the island world of the Southwest Pacific where he lived during the 1990s. Half of the royalties go to Survival International, an NGO dedicated to protecting indigenous cultures.

It was the end of November 2007 that I met Daniel in southeast Spain. I had just turned 26 and given up my student life in Munich to find an alternative to mainstream society. At the time he was living in an old mobile home on the huge property of a Frenchman of about the same age who, with Daniel’s help, built Canadian log cabins and rented them out to tourists. It quickly became clear that my body wasn’t suitable for such hard work, which is why I became the cook and gardener for this unusual community. I spent the cold evenings with Daniel, who talked about his non-conformist life and gave me English translations of his Japanese essays about alternative education for children to read. He seemed to spend all his free time producing socially critical and educational reform writings, which he then stuck onto white sheets of paper and illustrated with a variety of photos. He basically only knew about computers through hearsay, as he had always been a nomad who worked with his hands.
So our French host got us an old PC and I carefully introduced Daniel to this “modern technology”. At first he cursed it a lot, but over time he recognized its advantages and became increasingly accustomed to using it. Later I also introduced him to the Internet. A few months later, I said goodbye to the men but stayed in touch with Daniel via email. Shortly before Christmas 2015 he first mentioned details about his first novel.

It begins with a hunter called Matagi, native to the mountains of western Tóhoku (one of the last “wild” areas in the northern part of Japan’s main island Honshú), aged 38 at the time of the story (which is 1996). One day in 1991, he leaves his mountains for several reasons, the most important of which is encroachment by development (road construction etc.) in places not very far from where he lives. He feels threatened by what the government calls “modernization” and wants to find a new “territory” for himself  (he doesn’t have wife and kids). After 5 years of living more or less like a tramp and migrating laborer, travelling all over Japan (south in winter, north in summer), he embarks on a ship to Okinawa, actually for the second time, to work in sugarcane harvest. However, on the ship he comes into talking with an Okinawan girl called Chiharu. She is 21 and daughter of a “crazy” artist-philosopher, Old Kwanchó, who is old enough to be her grandfather. They live in a house near the sea in the northern part of Okinawa Island. Anyway, Chiharu tells Matagi that her father is looking for someone to do a job, and so Matagi visits their house. That’s where the story actually begins, but you learn about the hunters’s background in between. 

— Daniel Yokota in an email

The actual story is followed by a long epilogue about its origins and an extremely extensive glossary to explain the numerous places and terms that appear in the novel. At the end of the book there are even notes on pronunciation in relation to certain dialects in the Southwest Pacific, which are used in the dialogues.

  • Title: NO WAY BACK FROM NIRAI-KANAI: a novel from another world 
  • Author: ‎ Daniel Liúshing Yokota
  • Paperback: ‎ 628 pages
  • ISBN-13: ‎ 979-8870579207

Available now as a paperback and as an eBook on Amazon

In adoration to the human soul

Three Dragons And our Future Selves
The dragons are dreaming during the day
About a beauty taking their breath away.
Yet no one perceives them in everyday life,
They seem invisible to the eyes of strife.
Instead of roaring & roaming the realm
They yearn for a beauty that they can whelm
With treasures of inexplicable worth,
The ones they’ve been guarding since the moment of birth.

While outward beauty is ubiquitous 
And fleeting like the apex of bliss 
The spiritual splendor shines ever pristine 
Containing a wisdom which is ever serene. 
That beauty stands for humanity's soul, 
The dragons are wishing to render it whole. 
May tears of realization bless our face! 
May we truly unite enriched by that grace!

Our society is doomed and why this is “good”

Our society is doomed and why this is “good”

“It is not true that up cycle is good and down cycle bad, except in the mind’s judgment. Growth is usually considered positive, but nothing can grow forever. If growth, of whatever kind, were to go on and on, it would eventually become monstrous and destructive. Dissolution is needed for new growth to happen. One cannot exist without the other.”

Almost one year ago, my fiancée and I had come to Latin America in order to pursue a more authentic and sustainable way of life. We spent several moons in Peru, in Bolivia, in Argentina, and in Colombia. Our experiences have been manifold, obviously, be it in regards to the mentality, the landscapes, the cuisine, or the level of consciousness for that matter.
Regardless of where we went, people seemed to dream of a life in our so-called privileged countries. And the ubiquitous question was, “When do you return to your homeland?”
“We won’t go back; we don’t have a home anymore.”, I used to answer.
How come that so many Mestizos (who are, after all, a privileged majority in their respective country) leave this continent with the first opportunity? The ordinary white man will say, “Heck, who wants to live surrounded by narcotraffic and corruption?!”
Oh right, western politicians tend to be upright. And drug abuse is only a major problem in poorer countries. And Santa Claus is an ever-changing, white-bearded Hollywood actor who’s sponsored by the world’s biggest soda company and living on the north pole.
By the way, is there still any ice up there? I’m just asking because the Caribbean island of Holbox, Mexico, is currently in the process of sinking. Frankly, it doesn’t seem to bother anyone really, since it’s full of tourists — and of construction workers to enhance the number of fancy hotels made of concrete. If you’re leaving the mostly clean beaches behind, you are able to witness the salt water’s playful accumulation of plastic garbage.
On the southwestern end of the isle, they are transporting sand from the dunes to the construction sites. In case you didn’t know: hotels are more important than ecosystems. There are still plenty of acres on this sandy land that want to be urbanized — for the sake of all the animal lovers who have a right to snorkel with a whale shark at least once in their life. Who knows how much time there’s left before this species’s extinction after all. Well, let’s be fair: the humble sharks are only passing by the island half the year (now they’re far away). And since it lacks its own amusement park, people are either swimming or shopping. Or they’re going on a speed boat to the smaller, uninhabited isles nearby to say hello to the vulnerable flora and fauna. All of these endeavors are imperative; otherwise they would run out of content for their social media accounts.

This iguana‘s face says it all.

The lovely island is representative for our global community. Society is proudly unconscious about its own demise. Neither the world, nor the planet, nor mankind. Society is doomed. A society that is entirely false and fake. A society which is based on lies so that a bunch of lightless souls can feed on the negative emotions of billions. Or do you personally know anyone who is completely free of lust, greed, fear, anxiety, and anger?
What is widely considered as violence and art, respectively, has — throughout history — been an individual’s compensation of their inner suffering. While art can be labeled constructive, violence is but destructive. So why are there still violent conflicts between nations, groups, and individuals after millennia of art? Because man is bad or evil? Nothing could be farther from the truth. The essence of a human soul is pure love. You prove me right whenever you are deeply touched by someone or something. You prove me right whenever you wish for a happy ending. You prove me right whenever you say or do something beautiful — without expecting anything in return.

The down cycle is absolutely essential for spiritual realization. You must have failed deeply on some level or experienced some deep loss or pain to be drawn to the spiritual dimension. Or perhaps your very success became empty and meaningless and so turned out to be failure. Failure lies concealed in every success, and success in every failure. In this world, which is to say on the level of form, everybody “fails” sooner or later, of course, and every achievement eventually comes to naught. All forms are impermanent.

The good news is, there’s a constantly growing number of awakening souls among us. Once the “critical mass” is reached, an entirely new society is dawning. A society in which each and every individual’s strongest impetus is to manifest their inner light.

One day, there will be peace on earth — but only for those who have transcended their identification patterns. We need to stop identifying with the voice in our mind and with our negative emotions for our own and the universe’s sake.

You can still be active and enjoy manifesting and creating new forms and circumstances, but you won’t be identified with them. You do not need them to give you a sense of self. They are not your life — only your life situation.

All quotes from the book: THE POWER OF NOW, by Eckhart Tolle

The Living Library: Chapter X

The Living Library: Chapter X

Confusion had never tasted so sweet. Sylvan’s mission had failed, since he’d messed it up with both cousins. He didn’t know why he was still alive, or where Soulwhisperess had come from all of a sudden, but least of all did he grasp how he had won her very heart. Only one fact seemed to him to be as clear as a mountain stream—that he would say yes to everything that this inspiring being proclaimed. He hadn’t expected the kiss to end, but when the aftermath came she excitedly declared that she would have to return to her father immediately. There was dead silence in his grove. Soulwhisperess shrank to the size of a fairy and Sylvan admired her wings for the first time. She flew from tree to tree, disappeared in one knothole, reappeared shortly thereafter in another. Every time, she looked all the more disturbed. Obviously, not a single member of her species was present. She came back to the two helpless spectators. All three of them looked at each other helplessly when the faerie suddenly pricked up her ears. He wanted to ask what was going on but she put a tiny finger on his lips.Now I can hear it too, the Giantess thought.While Sylvan continued to exercise patience his friends turned their heads in the same direction. He followed their example. As soon as he saw the first creatures he heard the first notes. The sad-sounding tones created by wistfully buzzing beings formed a melody of deepest sympathy. The funeral procession brought together all the elves and centaurs who had not yet fallen victim to the cousins’ rage. They were singing nothing else but the fairy requiem that caused Sylvan an icy shiver with every beat. In the middle of the fairy grove, an elvish girl laid a braided wreath of flowers which was then carried to the sky in a green column of light. The child beamed and stepped under one of the trees. Then a stately centaur stepped forward, sacrificed her lance in an analogous manner to watch it floating up before he joined the little girl. Many elves and other centaurs followed; their respective offerings were all accepted and they now presented a mighty circle.Soulwhisperess approached the invisible altar, reached into her brown hair, jerkily tore out a tuft—a gesture which was accompanied by a general moan of pain—and let it fall to the ground with trembling hands. But instead of following gravity the tuft began to form something in the air. Whosoever was able to see, saw in it the very face of the fairy regent. Whosoever was able to listen heard his very voice:You are the last one of Hogtár’s fairies. Your father has consciously returned to the Goddess. She trusts in the one you chose but the greatest trial is just awaiting him.All the trees in the grove expanded until they melted into a massive building, the only entrance to which was directly behind Sylvan.If he proves worthy of the burden then Hogtár will enlighten him!The appearance disappeared. The only present human looked at the transformed grove, somewhat puzzled. Soulwhisperess flew onto his shoulder to stroke his cheek with a bittersweet smile. Finally, she gestured for him to enter the Living Library. The Giantess humbly asked him to find out her real name and he promised it to her. Then he put his foot across the threshold and turned around again—just to realize that the beloved fairy was no longer with him and that he couldn’t go back because there was no entrance to be seen. Instead, lianas seized him on all sides, encircling his hands and feet, his arms and legs, his head and torso until only his eyes, mouth, and nose were exposed. All of this happened before the eyes of Soulwhisperess who was desperately trying to overcome the force field between them. His eyes widened suddenly and she saw him screaming without hearing his voice. His nostrils closed as she saw tears of blood dripping from his eyes. Sylvan, however, absorbed the knowledge of the forest and learned firsthand what it means to be a sprout, to grow into a giant tree and to be felled by human hands. Ax slash followed ax slash, a long-lasting procedure that seemingly had no end. Deprived of its roots, the tree got sawn until it was mutilated beyond recognition. Yet, it was by no means dead but rather lived on in every single piece, was transported away and pierced by cold nails. It became the roof structure of a house, shielded from the sun, a witness to abuse and murder. It became the bench of a torture chamber, isolated from the sun, a witness to abuse and murder. It was Sylvan who found himself in innumerable objects, in innumerable vaults, with innumerable blood stains, in innumerable books, in innumerable stakes—which finally brought the desired salvation. The lianas let go of Sylvan’s body which fell over like a felled tree. The force field dissipated and Soulwhisperess hurried to him. The course of his tears had left a reddish mark on his face.

The Living Library: Chapter IX

The Living Library: Chapter IX

Sibat was far too suspicious and also too impatient to wait for a message or for the missing to return. So he mounted his own desert stallion and unobtrusively followed the riders. Since he was by no means afraid of what creatures and sorcery in this world could produce, possible dangers never occurred to him. When he saw that his men were riding more slowly and were finally standing still he steered his horse to a tree, fastened the reins to a branch and climbed up to use the wooden tower as an advantageous vantage point. It seemed strange enough to see his long-time companion without armor, but what made him rub his eyes was a two-headed giant. Was it the result of failed magic, a twin, or was it just an illusion? Hearing his warriors’ familiar battle cry he decided to get closer. But what was happening there?! The whole place of the event was bathed in a bright light so that Sibat could no longer see anything. Shortly after, he heard a panicked scream out of familiar throats for the first time. Even before he was back in the saddle five men came riding in his direction while the sixth man’s legs peeked out of the mouth of the largest worm he had ever seen. While the failed attackers dashed past him a few horse lengths away he uttered thoughtfully:
“You have found a powerful ally, cousin! He will be your last one though!”

Soulwhisperess was close to despair; everything she perceived, everything she noticed seemed to be man-made—artificial, cold and exhausting. The old inventor had put her in a cage, with a bowl of water and a bowl of grains that humans used to cultivate and process into various dishes. The metal prison hung in a dark corner of the tower room. Being deprived of her freedom she saw no tree, no bush, no flower. She cried, not out of self-pity but because of her father who would wither due to anxiety for his only offspring. He would never have let her fly away if it had been in his power, but even the most venerable of all fairy beings had to bow to that sacred law to which she had appealed—the law of love. Because a fairy can only give her heart once—and no matter to whom she entrusts it this chosen one is respected by the whole fairy world. The recipient does not necessarily have to belong to the same race as every now and then an elf had been chosen for this symbiotic marriage. Such connections were perceived as a burden rather than a blessing by the chosen ones. Yet, never had there been a fairy that chose a human — and to make matters worse — an outsider.
Gaia’s paths are unfathomable, and the greatest misery for Soulwhisperess was the fear that she would no longer have the opportunity to put her noble heart in equally noble hands. Sylvan was unreachable, just as unreachable as anything that had ever been dear to her. Instead, she was confronted with this madman who thought he was brilliant because he knew how to make destructive tools from ores and crystals. Whenever he approached the cage she trembled with fear. But when she felt his wistful look on her she felt compassion for a race that was far too rational for its own sake. She felt her seven senses fading and believed that she had acted against Gaia’s will. Hadn’t she fooled her father in order to finally get to know the landscapes she could only imagine? Long-willing to reveal the mystery of her tri-color aura she had abused a sacred right. Shortly after leaving her father to himself and his grief she had been captured by a flying machine. It was Gaia’s will that she would atone for her sacrilege in the clutches of those madmen to whom Hogtár meant nothing and who tried to cut down every single tree in order to fight each other with horrifying constructs. And just as everything alive and dead was only a means to an end for these cousins, she had betrayed everything that was sacred to the fairy race. Such were the thoughts that tormented her before begging the goddess to give the fairy regent a more worthy child.
When Xefutra later discovered the still body he was surprised that the “animal” had not eaten anything. Then he opened the barred door, picked it up, went out to the terrace and tossed it over the parapet towards the sunset.
Even innocent beings — who haven’t done anything to anyone — are dying in our hands! he thought and added aloud:
“I have to put an end to this madness once and for all!”
“Then start with yourself!”
Xefutra turned around with an angry face. In front of the stairs were Sylvan and Sulumaf—the latter was staring in embarrassment.
“You don’t seem to know who’s standing before you!”, remarked the tower owner with glowing eyes.
“You are mistaken. But you can’t even know it! My name is Sylvan and I have come from another world to end your conflict.”
Xefutra looked questioningly at Sulumaf who had imagined this meeting a little differently and had reacted speechlessly to Sylvan’s self-introduction. As he now noticed that his revered mentor was waiting for a more conclusive explanation for the inappropriate behavior of this young stranger he tried to share as much information as possible in a few words:
“This man has brought us Donsha, Sibat’s companion—who is unable to move due to an injury—on the shoulders of a giantess.”
Xefutra gazed at the lean visitor who wore neither robe nor armor, neither staff nor sword, not even a protective amulet. Everything he had on his body was so plain and simple that he would have thought he was a vagabond if he had run into him in his home country.
“And where is this giantess now?”, he finally asked.
Sulumaf led him to the parapet where a few feet below the Giantess was just caressing Soulwhisperess. Astounded soldiers were standing around them. The old warlord put a hand on his trusty man’s shoulder and said:
“The men should guard Donsha! Go to her and find out how cooperative she is!”
He did as he was told and Xefutra asked his strange guest to take a seat in his room but Sylvan refused.
“Don’t people value hospitality where you come from?”, the host asked.
“When the world is burning around you it seems macabre to sit comfortably!”, the guest countered whereupon Xefutra frowned.
“What do you know about this war?”
Sylvan didn’t need to ponder and thus answered:
“That it causes nothing but suffering and devastation.”
“Then you don’t know anything!”, Xefutra complained. “Do you think I enjoy watching one landscape after another fall down?!”
Sylvan drew hope from this reply:
“Then settle the conflict in Gaia’s name!”
Yet Xefutra only shook his head and asked a new question:
“Have you ever seen my cousin or even heard of him?”
Now Sylvan tried to be a bit more cooperative by answering:
“Sibat has already tried to get us out of the way because we picked up Donsha. He seems less ready for dialogue than you.”
Xefutra felt justified in his position and explained:
“While my people are ordered not to lay a finger on her Sibat’s servants torture and kill anyone who is not on his side. With me, this world would lose the only person who can save it from total subjugation. If I don’t stop him hope dies as well. As soon as it goes out darkness reigns. You can’t even imagine in your worst nightmares what that means!”
In this moment, it was Sylvan’s time to shake his head:
“Especially since I don’t know nightmares. Don’t you see the futility of this arms race at the expense of all living beings? Whosoever wins the war will not be able to speak of victory because the world will be in ruins!”
Xefutra turned away in anger. After a while he asked while looking towards the horizon:
“What do you expect from me? That I deliver myself and my people to Sibat?”
Sylvan was pondering. Then he made a suggestion:
“Why don’t you challenge him to a duel to save everyone further suffering?”
Xefutra sighed deeply and answered:
“Because he wouldn’t go into it!”
“Have you ever tried it?”, Sylvan dug deeper.
“He is too cowardly!”, Xefutra assured him.
“More cowardly than you? There is so much blood on your four hands because nobody has the courage to face the other—without weapons, without soldiers, without machines!”
Xefutra turned to him with another face of fury:
“You don’t understand that!”
“Indeed!”, Sylvan agreed with him, “I don’t understand how a mature man out of childish resentment can trample down an entire world!”
He turned and went down the stairs. Xefutra watched him with sad eyes and only moved when he heard Sylvan joyfully calling below:
“Soulwhisperess!”
The inventor stepped to the parapet and saw how the fairy he had believed dead grew to human size, wrapped her arms around the stranger and kissed him.
You did not even mention my greatest offense, Sylvan—I’ve trod down my own life …

The Living Library: Chapter VIII

The Living Library: Chapter VIII

Sibat examined his new factory and congratulated himself on its completion. In the middle of Hogtár he had undermined and hollowed out a giant tree. There was clear cutting all around which he noted with as much satisfaction as the branches that had been converted into smoking chimneys on which not a single leaf could be made out. He could hardly wait to send his rolling war machines by the dozen against Xefutra and his pitiful inventions which had to be defeated in the face of this clout.
But where was Donsha? The only thing she should do is free the environment from the more dangerous animals. Could that take so long? After all, he had given her a prototype, the effectiveness of which was to be tested in relation to living enemies. Could this machine have failed? Locked out! He, Sibat, was infallible! There might have been organized resistance and the relentless butcher might have slaughtered everything that came before her spiked armor. He grinned at the thought; then his features returned to their usual hardened expression. But what if she had come across his cousin’s constructs? He would have preferred to jump on a dragon machine immediately but unfortunately, due to their archaic character, they were unsuitable for flight. Any skirmish would hardly be recognizable from the air anyway. It was really high time to raze this entire forest so that the machine army — which had been constructed and perfected by him — could roll towards its victorious destiny without any wooden obstacles! But until this time finally came he had to be content with the warriors who hadn’t bitten the dust during the numerous battles on the continent. He called in a former desert robber who was busy providing the few horses with food and water.
“Get a handful of people together and find out if Donsha is in contact with the enemy! If so, plunge into the fray and send me a messenger! If not, bring her to me dead or—” almost dead! he thought without uttering it.
The henchman, dressed entirely in black, let out a shrill whistle that could be heard from far away and without moving his fingers to his lips. Less than five minutes later, Ahrzim saw half a dozen riders dash off among the countless stumps.

Maybe she got to safety in time, Silvan tried to comfort the Giantess. After stroking her head for a while she confessed to him:
I know she is alive! I cry for all the creatures that Hogtár defended so bravely.
He frowned and asked where Soulwhisperess was now. She didn’t know that.
Should we better go back to The Protectress?
The giantess wiped the last tears from her cheeks and answered resolutely:
No! We have a mission to accomplish!
Suddenly a female lament came to her ears. She listened and followed the voice. Soon afterwards they saw a lightly dressed woman — with long black hair and a face contorted with pain — who, supported on a branch, pulled her left leg behind her. When she saw the giantess from afar with one big and one small head she fell to the ground. Silvan asked his volunteer to drop him off. Then he ran to the injured person, knelt down next to her and carefully raised her head. Two deep black eyes stared at him so steadily that he was startled.
“I surrender, Xefutra!”, she pressed out between her thin lips.
It dawned on him that she belonged to Sibat, since he had learned the names of the enemy cousins from The Protectress.
“We are peacemakers and can bring you to your Lord.”
“No!”, she called out in horror.
He looked at the Giantess questioningly whereupon she gave him to understand:
She has a dark aura.
He was about to say that under no circumstances could she be left to herself when the mysterious woman said:
“Take me to Sulumaf, Xefutra’s right hand!” And noticing his puzzled face she added, “Please!”
He turned back to the giantess who warned him again of the dubious nature of the stranger. But he didn’t want to know about it.
“What about your foot, is it broken?”
“Yes, but you are certainly not on foot. If you get your steed and help me up…”
From the corner of his eye he could see the Giantess shaking her head decisively.
“We cannot serve with that but I will support you!”
As he helped the woman to her feet she asked him:
“Are you a druid?”
But before he could give her an answer she saw the giantess (this time with only one head) and cried out loudly so that the other two flinched.
“We belong together”, he explained, unsure how the relationship could be better described in one word. This brought him four eyes wide open, two of them particularly large. For a moment he was visibly overwhelmed but then took new courage and tried to make everyone known.
“Well, so that’s the Nameless Giantess. My name is Sylvan. And you are?”
“Damn it!”, exclaimed the woman who first noticed Sibat’s henchmen.
Silvan no longer knew what to say and the giantess’ request increased his confusion rather than alleviating it.
Get your flute out and be ready!
The desert stallions’ hooves were now making enough noise to attract his attention. The resolute half-naked whispered to him:
“If you have power over this giantess you better order her to kill those men before they kill us!”
The mute one ordered him:
Pick up the flute!
He only hesitantly obeyed her.
Now imagine the worm that impressed you yesterday and play!
Fear grew in him and threatened to take possession of his spirit the closer the black riders got. He closed his eyes, tried to concentrate and suddenly felt a strong hand on his upper arm.
“Are you out of your mind?! Do you want to give your murderers a welcome song?!”
He looked into the black eyes and shook his head. The next moment he was grabbed by the giantess, put on her shoulders and prompted for the third and most urgent time:
Summon the Hogtárian worm! Now!
But the sight of six raised scimitars, flashing in the sunlight, paralyzed him. Knowing that she could not take more than one mounted attacker on the Giantess reached for a dead branch of human diameter and waited for the crucial moment, since it is quite impossible to repeat a first strike. The riders bridled the course of their horses when they saw the unpredictable opponent. One of them told the others to wait, slowly rode within earshot and shouted:
“Give us Donsha, whosoever you are!”
The said one turned to the person sitting on the Giantess’ shoulders:
“If you hand me over to them they’ll kill you nevertheless. I know they will!”
Silvan couldn’t utter a word and his only friend for the moment didn’t anyway. The sinister leader gave some signs to his people whereupon they began to surround the strange trio in a star shape. The attack signal sounded. The Giantess reached out with the branch, ready to turn around on her own axis. The warriors galloped towards them with battle cries. Yet all of a sudden, they were blinded by a glistening white light that seemed to have its source over Sylvan’s pale head. He looked up and immediately all fear was gone. A ray-wrapped angel hovered protectively over him.
Celia!
Play a tune!, he heard her voice in his mind.
With his eyes closed he brought the flute to his mouth. He elicited scarily beautiful tones from it. The mighty body of the summoned worm twisted between the attackers and the single defender and immediately devoured a man that had fallen from his warhorse. The remaining five riders screamed in horror and spurred their horses. The radiant appearance— which had only been recognized as an angel by Sylvan — vanished as quickly as it had come. The giantess dropped her branch which she didn’t end up using for anything. The worm retreated to the forest to digest its unexpected meal. But Donsha watched it shuddering and finally said to her apparent savior:
“You are the most powerful bard I have ever met!”
She could not have guessed (and would not have believed) that he had no significant part in all of this because according to her world view giants were considered simple, monstrous, and unearthly creatures that could only be summoned by particularly skilled wizards. Yet Sylvan — now blessed with a divine shield — seemed like in a trance so that the Giantess had to take the initiative again. Despite the suspicious aura, she grabbed the ignorant woman and marched in the opposite direction to the fleeing riders. Donsha made no sound as she put on a wicked grin.