Voices from Our Pantheist Heritage: Stories of a Sacred Universe

By Brendon Crook

A series of short stories focused on the loss of connection modern humanity has to their earthly roots and the loss of their sense of universal divinity.

In a world ever further alienated from its own reality, these stories seek to show the majesty, beauty, and spirituality of a sacred universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514441619

Brendon Crook

From a writer who cares passionately about the human and nonhuman world.

Book preview

Voices from our Pantheist Heritage

Stories of a Sacred Universe

Brendon Crook

Copyright © 2015 by Brendon Crook.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015917021

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-5144-4163-3

                Softcover     978-1-5144-4162-6

                eBook           978-1-5144-4161-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/13/2015

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

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Contents

Part II

Upon the Wings of Eternity

Broken Wings

Shadows in the Darkness

The Verse and the Signis

POEMS

Fingers of Paradise

Canyon

Ode to the Albatross

Throwing Stones

Where Death Visited

I spent my young years running among the trees in the Black Forest in southern Germany, where I was born and raised. My parents had a small store on the east side of the village in which they sold groceries. They had an adjoining room in which they had their own work for sale. My father made wooden toys and animals, whilst my mother painted animals and landscapes. The shop was on the only road through, and behind it the land rose steeply, becoming a densely forested mountain.

I spent most of my childhood there; even in winter, I would rug myself up and head up into the mountains, quickly vanishing from sight.

The bird life in summer was astounding, and deer could be heard from far away.

I was a loner as a child, but sometimes my sister would accompany me on my treks up into the forest. She was more energetic than me, and I often wished to stop at the creek and have our lunch we had brought with us, but my sister would always want to continue that little bit further and over to the next valley. Even in winter, she would plough through the snow further than I wanted to. Then we would eat our lunch and head home after spending time listening to the wind in the trees.

There were times I wished to never go home, as I loved it here so much. Growing up, I felt that my home was there deep within the forest and not in the village. I felt closer to the animals than I ever had to any human being.

Not that my home life was bad. I had a wonderful family and enjoyed my family’s company; however, I’ve always felt more contented among the forests, mountains, and animals in all mother earth’s seasons than I ever have within a society which I could never understand or wished to let invade my heart.

When not in the mountains, I was at home reading. I read a lot of books on philosophy and spirituality. I loved reading Nietzsche, Rousseau, Voltaire, and Spinoza. My parents often gave me books to read, although I knew they were worried about my time spent reading and my solitude. However, they did feel it would be good for my education.

Sometimes I would walk into the mountains by myself with a book and, choosing a sunny spot on a rock, would begin to read.

I would sit for hours reading and contemplating what I’d read.

On one occasion, I had a small fawn and her mother graze about me, seemingly unconcerned by my presence.

I watched them as they fed. Perhaps they were here for the same reason as me, a sunny clearing in the forest.

As I watched them, I thought about their ancestors. How incredible that thousands of their generation had been born, lived, and died in this forest when we hunted them for food to survive ourselves!

Now we have a more effective way of killing them. We destroy their homes, the mighty forests.

These deer frequented the small clearing more and more, and we all became quite regular friends in the sun. Gradually, the fawn became rather more daring. One day, I was sitting on my rock in the sun reading, when I felt what I thought was an insect on my neck. I flicked it off and shortly felt it back again. I flicked it off again, and as I did, I noticed a dark shape out of the corner of my eye. I spun around to spy the fawn standing about three metres behind me.

I watched as she walked cautiously up to me again. She came around to the front of the rock where I was seated reading, and I slowly moved my hand out to her and patted her soft head. Her mother was in the background, watching, ever vigilant.

We were mutual visitors to this small clearing, and we slowly began to trust each other.

My mother would give me a few apples, some cabbage, and carrots to take with me to feed them.

After a short while, the doe came over. They were comfortable enough to lay next to my sunny rock as I read to them.

I read extracts from the books I read and also the poems I myself had written.

Soon, my sister started coming to the clearing with me more often, and whilst the deer were at first a little afraid of her, they soon came to trust her. It wasn’t long before they trusted her so much so that they would follow her down the hillside but would go no further than the edge of the forest at the bottom of the hillside.

The beauty of these magnificent creatures had captured both the hearts of my sister and me, and we became the talk of our little village; soon, the rest of the village wanted to see them. Eventually, we managed to encourage them to the outskirts of the cottages, but they wouldn’t stay for long before retreating back into their forest home.

I’d spent my life among the wild creatures in nature, so I had become used to them, and I had a strong bond with them.

I had a gifted upbringing, growing up where I did, and I knew a lot of other children growing up in the cities who missed out on the gifts of nature. My life as a child belonged to the forests, and I began to spend more and more time there. I would go early in the morning, often before the sun came up, and pitch my tent. I would sometimes stay for days.

I would fall asleep under the stars, my body inside the tent and my head outside, looking up into the starry sky.

Many times, the heavens were the last thing I saw before I fell asleep, only to be woken by a wet mist as it began to rain and forced me to withdraw completely into my tent and listen to the gentle pattering of the raindrops on the tent.

I loved the crisp clean air and every inhalation sung songs of the beauty and wonder of our universe.

One night, I drifted off to sleep with my head outside the tent as usual, only to wake up during the night to see in the darkness what I thought was a rock, which I didn’t remember seeing before. It was the fawn which had lain curled up next to me. I knew her mother would be around somewhere but couldn’t see her.

I would feed apples to the fawn when she awoke and pat her soft little head. I would see her mother nearby and knew she always had an eye on me, as she knew only too well what human beings had done to the world.

One morning, whilst feeding the fawn, a black cap warbler landed to my right. She stood there staring at me with her head tilted to one side.

I stared back at her as the fawn nuzzled my hand to get the last pieces of the apple.

The warbler too began to frequent the little clearing. I began to bring berries to the forest and started feeding her too.

I would rarely leave the forest now without being followed by a column of wildlife.

There were times I had to go to the mountains to get away from the strange ideals of humanity. I needed to refocus my soul with the pervading spirit of nature. To stand outside humanity’s culture and inhale only nature and indeed the whole universe into one’s soul is so truly sacred.

My sister, who was fourteen months older than me, became an inspiration to me as I grew older. She always had a strong sense of connection to the universe, something that seems more common in women than men. A woman feels the virtues, sacredness, and sanctity of life far more acutely than a man, something I was to encounter later.

Nothing much changed in our village in January 1933 when the National Socialists came to power.

Life went on as normal for us, but we were well aware of the political rumblings within the country.

Our village still went about its business in its usual manner, and I still went on my treks into the mountains.

As the years went on, the dark clouds of war began to appear, and we all began to have feelings that perhaps we could again be at war.

We never had a wireless in September 1939; however, others in our village told us we were at war with Britain.

I remember my mother in tears, cuddling and squeezing me. I was too young for military service; however, the representatives from Berlin were encroaching into the remoter parts of Germany to sign up soldiers to fulfil Germany’s call to arms. Their presence was a dark spectre that hung over our peaceful lives. Any young man of service age was being called to defend the Fatherland from the warmongers’ intent on destroying us.

I found the hysterical harshness of the government that had been in power for all these years, vile and contemptible, and avoided any conversation with others on politics. There were plenty of people who were party members, and one could put one’s life in peril by speaking ill of the National Socialists.

In early 1943, I was called for service, and my life was about to be completely changed forever. I had to leave my home, my family, my forest sanctuary, and my beloved animals. It was the worst day of my life.

My peace was shattered, my serenity violated, and my love of life and creation perverted, bent, and twisted beyond any recognition of decency. I had to relent to a whole set of new ideals that were so alien to my soul, and all I could do was dream of being back in the small clearing in the sacred mountains back home.

After spending so long studying the birds in the forest, I had built up quite a fascination in aircraft. I’d often thought as to how clumsy human beings are in the air but how graceful birds are. No technology will ever match the beauty and majesty of a bird in flight.

Something in my interview with the Reich representative must have stuck with him, for I received a directive from the Luftwaffe to attend training in the north of the country.

One of the hardest things we can ever experience is leaving one’s kin and embark on a new path, a path that may well result in one’s own death. I had a lot of trouble releasing my mother from my arms at the railway station. My father shook my hand, and as I hugged my sister goodbye, I told her to take care of the animals in the forest and let them know that I’d be back. I don’t believe there was a dry eye on the packed platform.

I sat in silence in the train; I remember my stomach being in knots and tears streaming down my cheeks. I was not alone in this. Most of the young men being sent away were either silently sobbing or sat pale-faced and emotionless. Many of them would never again see the people they had just hugged and kissed goodbye at the railway station.

Now I know how the indigenous people felt when they were taken from their sacred homelands by colonialists in the new world.

The train journey lasted about four hours before we changed to another train and mixed in with other young men from other parts of the country. I struck a conversation with a young man from the outskirts of Munich.

His parents were small-scale farmers, and he too worked on the farm. His father had been a hero in World War I after saving five of his comrades by dragging each one to safety. He felt he could never emulate his father.

We knew we were entering a losing war, but to state so was considered defeatism and punishable by death.

I had never been away from my mountains and my home before, except to France for a short visit with my parents. The French border was not far from us.

I felt overwhelming feelings of tragedy, heartache, and misery and longed to be back at home with my deer and the warblers in the little clearing in my sacred forest.

Instead, I was trapped in a noisy, smelly train rattling towards a war I had no say in, a conflict that had no meaning to me.

I had never fired a gun but was put behind a machine gun on the firing range during our brief training programme.

I noticed that some of the other trainee pilots within my group appeared rather arrogant and determined to drive the allies back and secure the domination of the 1,000-year Third Reich. I assumed their parents’ influence could have been responsible for a lot of it.

I was looking forward to flying; however, I held a deep dread of anything further. I silently prayed for the war to end either way.

I so longed for the forest and my animal kin. I felt ever so lonely without them near me. There was scarcely ever a time in my life I never had animals about me.

I felt estranged from the spirit of creation, from my connection to the land and her seasons.

I felt lonely for the silence of the woods, lonely for the smells of the forest air, and I felt despaired at my separation from the starry heavens.

I felt lonely in this human company which was bent on war and destruction. A great and pervasive depression overcame me, and the others in my rank began to spurn me. Most of them could never possibly even comprehend my life previous to this.

We did our training in converted fighters. My first solo flight was in a rather war-ravaged Messerschmitt Me 109, and I’ll never forget the sound as, by myself, alone in the cockpit, I powered up the aircraft for take-off. The aircraft had a Daimler-Benz DB601 inverted V12 engine, and most of our training were in war-weary veterans who had been superseded later by more modern aircraft. Our aircraft were rather tired, but it was the best the Luftwaffe could provide during these times.

I learnt very quickly and soon adapted to flying in difficult conditions. I had decided that the only way I was going to see my family, forest, and animal kin again was to focus my full attention on my situation.

I learnt how to make my aircraft an extension of myself. I began to think like a hawk and let every movement of my wings guide me to my goal.

I had learnt that my sister was involved in the dispersal of fighter escorts over Britain. I only met her once before my life changed again. She too missed the mountains, our animal kin, and the sacred quietude.

I’ve always held her in awe, not just because she is my sister but also because of the values she’s always displayed and the power of her spirit.

After we had trained with the Me 109s, we were dispersed to different squadrons.

Most of us were sent to units operating Focke-Wulf Fw190s.

I do believe some of us would not have graduated but for the growing shortage of personnel.

We were being encircled on all fronts by the allies, and our options were being rapidly closed off.

I made what I could of the brief periods of rest we were given. I enjoyed lying in the sun with the larks hopping about me.

Our operations were conducted at night, so we had to rest during the day. A lot of the pilots would sleep most of the day. I’ve never needed a lot of sleep, so after a few hours, I would be awake again.

The airfield we operated from was next to a forest, and when I awoke, I would almost always vanish into it. Here I could revitalize myself within the spirit of creation that surrounds one in a forest. It was here that I could once again become myself.

It was here that I could clear my heart of the heavy and burdensome charge my soul was fraught with.

I soon found a place here that resounded deeply within, and I made it my place to be away from base. It was a small grove of trees and had a most holy and sacred atmosphere to it. It was a place which my soul felt at peace with.

I would sit upon the ground in the middle of the grove with my legs crossed and close my eyes. I would then pray to the wonderful Great Spirit of creation, which gives to us our lives, that this war would soon be over. I would give thanks for my life and the glory of creation that we are all a part of.

I knew if I was killed in this ugly war, it would not be because of the Great Spirit of creation but because of the evil hand of humanity that hated itself, becoming determined to destroy itself in its miserable and degraded expressions of its own self-imposed and deluded visions and ideals.

I knew long ago that humanity’s only salvation upon earth was to embrace all creation and to enliven within one’s soul the sanctity of creation we all experience every second of our lives.

As we inhale, the winds of creation enter our bodies, and upon exhaling, we release the wonder that has accosted us and sent it forth into the sacred universe. We live every second of our lives pouring forth our energies into the universe, yet fail to realise that that very same energy which animates us and our soul also informs the rest of creation.

Why should any other creature be denied love in our world? Are they not too imbued with the wonderful Great Spirit of creation’s dreaming?

Do not the warblers live their lives waiting, in the sun, for kinship?

Once, as I sat in my sacred grove, my eyes closed and meditating on the universe, I heard a rustle of leaves and then felt a soft furry warm body against my hand. I opened my eyes to spy a fluffy grey squirrel next to my hand. She had black eyes which stared at me. Her tilted head reminded me of the black cap warbler that looked at me the same way when we first met in my beloved forest back home.

This little squirrel often came to me as I sat solitary in my grove.

She was, and is, to me a reflection of everything that is important in the world. She was soft, honest,