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Aug. 14th, 2006 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leia131That's why I don't go outside anymore.
Yes there are bugs and dirt and things that make me itch, spiders and places to get your feet stuck, but those are just excuses.
I don't go outside because my fairyland was cut down.
It doesnt't matter that my castle was over-run by weeds, or that a thorn bush has sprung from My Rock, for that is the way of things.
But my sacred place was chopped down and burned, tiny animals laid to rest disturbed, and thistles appeared where they do not belong, because there were no more trees to keep them out. Because of Man.
When the Guardian of the Trees and Protector of the Rocks relizes that she can't do her job because she doesn't own them and property lines are more important than nature, that is to say when she grows up, then the kingdom that once brought her unparalleled happiness brings only sorrow.
And rather than have to face that, she hides in the house. Whenever outside, she's tempted to go and explore the ruins of her childhood, the death site of her innocence, and every time she does there are tears and a little piece of her soul dies.
It's easier then to avoid all the outside, to stay in with technology and pretend that there's a concrete and not a spiritual reason for it. Easier than feeling the hate and the sadness, the lost joy and promise.
There's only a small, glimmering, shard of hope, all that's left after the Pandora next door opened the box, that someday there will be a new little girl and a new kingdom, somewhere where the property lines extend farther than those of imagination, and the Protector can be again.
Yes there are bugs and dirt and things that make me itch, spiders and places to get your feet stuck, but those are just excuses.
I don't go outside because my fairyland was cut down.
It doesnt't matter that my castle was over-run by weeds, or that a thorn bush has sprung from My Rock, for that is the way of things.
But my sacred place was chopped down and burned, tiny animals laid to rest disturbed, and thistles appeared where they do not belong, because there were no more trees to keep them out. Because of Man.
When the Guardian of the Trees and Protector of the Rocks relizes that she can't do her job because she doesn't own them and property lines are more important than nature, that is to say when she grows up, then the kingdom that once brought her unparalleled happiness brings only sorrow.
And rather than have to face that, she hides in the house. Whenever outside, she's tempted to go and explore the ruins of her childhood, the death site of her innocence, and every time she does there are tears and a little piece of her soul dies.
It's easier then to avoid all the outside, to stay in with technology and pretend that there's a concrete and not a spiritual reason for it. Easier than feeling the hate and the sadness, the lost joy and promise.
There's only a small, glimmering, shard of hope, all that's left after the Pandora next door opened the box, that someday there will be a new little girl and a new kingdom, somewhere where the property lines extend farther than those of imagination, and the Protector can be again.
