Feeling Different

Nature has a special language. It's a language understood that can beby Indonesians, Malaysians, Japanese, Chinese - in fact by all Asians. Blacks and whites understand it, too. It's a global language which knows neither boundaries nor religious dogmas. It cannot be banned or enforced by any regime. It cannot be monopolized by the bourgeois. It cannot be hoarded as a treasure by the usurer. Prestigious organizations cannot encourage or discourage it. Aging rajahs speak it with immeasurable nostalgia. Nostalgia? Yes. It is a dying language which can be understood by everyone, but it is hardly used by anybody.

An artificial, man-made language has taken its place. This is the language of supersonic jets, deep sea explosions, and the ruthless exposure of Mother Nature's mountains and hills. Nobody ever listens anymore to the language of babbling brooks, the collage of flowers in bloom, and the entourage of heavenly bodies in clear skies. Nobody listens and Mother Nature feels rejected. Her language is dying and she is dying, too. When she dies, the whole of Asia dies. Blacks and whites die, too.