Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz
In the wild there is no distinction between life and death. There are no enemies in the soil beneath a forest. All is One, giving and receiving. The world is unendingly patient. Nothing lives forever, so that All may live forever.
Where man attempts to tame the wilderness, death grows like a shadow. His steps are rabid, hurried. When will time steal all that I have gained? What will they say of me when my body is in the ground? My flesh will not rot in this sterile grave; surely I will never die. There are footsteps always behind him. Nightfall is always approaching too soon.
How can a man feed his soul and the souls of his children in society, and how can he feed their stomachs in the wild? Is there anything left untouched by the gold of fools? Does any wilderness remain unowned, undefiled, on this earth?
Oh little sapling, child of the Universe, full of doubt and wonder: trust the soil from which you were born. A man can never truly own a piece of earth, any more than a son can own his own Mother. Do you not know that the wilderness will always prevail in the end?