The Travelling Merchant and His Tempest Leeches

I want to tell you a story, my son. This story which came to me from my father, and his father before him, I am now bestowing unto you. I do so with the utmost of reverence. And, bound by that eternal duty with which providence inextricably binds to our ancient rights, I bequeath to you my history, my future, and your liberty. Though you may not understand the great burden, as duty, I gift to you, know that this Constitution of Blood which binds you to me and myself unto my father carries enormous power and authority which you will one day carry out your future and secure that which I give to you today for your own sons and daughters. All which matters now is that this seed I am handing over to you blossoms so beautifully and bountifully under your careful watch and close guidance. At the start, you will need my help and I will be there to offer it, but soon you will come to see as I have and you must how to care for and protect – with your life if necessary – this oath of blood which stands before you now, and you with it, as a healthy seedling waiting to be planted into a soil of its own.

Wise men, of whom you are to them as I am to my father, once said ‘the very idea of a new government, is enough to fill us with disgust and horror. We wished at the period of the Revolution, and do now wish, to derive all we possess as an inheritance from our forefathers’ and that ‘the skillful gardener directs the pruning less towards lush vegetation than towards the fructification of the tree; he wants fruit, not wood or leaves.’ Commit these words to memory, and this story I am about to unfold for you, so that you may reflect upon this ancient wisdom which is today all but lost except among those most hated and scorned in our hollow society. They will tell you, should you utter this to those who have not the soil necessary for this truth, that these things you speak of are demons. ‘You’re haunted by a specter long since dead! Careful you do not haunt back and raise what we now fear more than anything’, they’ll say. These madmen are your enemies. Do not suffer these enemies of your future lightly for they will seek to uproot you from your future and plant you firmly in the pit of insanity. These life-leaches – these Revolutionaries! – seek only to stick your head in the ground and your heart where their dagger may easily strike. You are not alone but this secret you now bear must blossom with your help and its roots shall find common friendship with those like it soon enough. For now, listen as I begin your story, my son.

There was a man not far from here, down past the old river whose streams carry only dust and wind, who came home one day with a most curious bag. Asked about the contents of the bag this man replied, ‘they are seeds, you fool!’ An aura of exuberance and hope oozed from this man, it was said, and when asked from who he bought them from, again, he replied, ‘Bought? No, not bought! I was given them freely from a nomadic merchant. What a fool he was to give them freely to me.’ ‘Why?’, the man was asked. To which he snorted, ‘He told me that if I were to plant these seeds in the shade away from Sun on the third Monday of January a great storm would soon appear, and, blotting out the Sun for a week they would bear perpetual fruit with no need for tender care or close supervision!’

The man was left to his own devices but he was observed by his curious and wary neighbors to see if he had been made a fool – which they all took for granted – or if he had stumbled upon the most unheard of beneficence in all of history. And so, with careful inspection and thorough planning the man plotted and planted his new crop just as he was told – on the third Monday of January away from the warmth of the Sun under the shade of Elohim tree. And indeed, as was claimed, a violent and terrible storm had appeared soon after. It shook the hills, leveled the mountains, and usurped the soil from ground leaving only loose dirt unfit for even the feed crop we give our own animals. The man was struck with a horrible uncertainty and he cursed the travelling salesman for tricking him. It appeared that he had left out a terrible detail when he recounted his run-in with this salesman likely for fear of being thought a fool.

His neighbors had observed a most curious thing indeed when they saw the man uproot his standing crop and burn it – it was assumed this was a further instruction he had carefully left out. The man’s cries and curses could be heard throughout the village and now he was left with loose dirt and no crop of his own. His future was uncertain to say the least. He cried and kicked and raged violently well into the evening after the storm had passed until he fell silent from exhaustion. But, as if to be risen from the dead, his hopes were rejuvenated. Aroused from his sleep by the cries of his neighbors, like a storm, he fled from his house. ‘Look! Look!’ they shouted calling out his name. There he found small and strange looking wisps of a mysterious tree sprouting from the barren ground! The man fell to his knees and wept tears of joy. He praised the travelling merchant and cursed himself for his own uncertainty and doubt.

As each day faded into the next the man was amazed with the speed these sprouts turned into, at first small branchlings, and finally full-fledged trees. And then they started to sprout small fruits which looked as though they would be sweet and filling when ripe. The man was overjoyed not only because it seemed as though he was the victim of lady fortune but because he had little to offer in the form of work and care for the trees seemed to thrive without his intervention. Still, his neighbors were wary and looked on with cautious anxiety. This chance luck the man had stumbled upon seemed too good to be true. They did not know then how right their intuitions would turn out to be and many had remarked later how they wished they had murdered the man and burned all those trees.

After some time whereupon the fruit seemed to be ripe and ready for harvest the man went out with cart and pruning knife to collect his laborless bounty. Watching closely the man’s neighbors waited to see if anything would happen – something strange from these strange trees. And to their surprise, and the surprise of the man, something terrible and strange did indeed occur. As the man cut the sweet looking fruit from the first tree and placed it in his cart he heard a frightful hissing which echoed across his orchard. He looked upon the cart and, with horror, saw his sweet looking fruit shrivel and burst into flames! All that was left were ash in its place. The man was paralyzed with fear and the thought of what this meant. Panicked, he quickly cut as many fruit from this first tree as he could and tossed them into the cart. Only this time there was no hiss but a loud explosion which threw the man onto the ground and ripped his cart into pieces. The shock from this explosion was so great it ripped some fruit from the adjacent trees and as they fell upon the ground exploded into flames and a great fire was ignited on the man’s land. As the fire raged, and spread with even greater intensity as more fruit fell to the ground, more and more fruit were thrown into the air and landed on the man’s house setting it ablaze too. The neighbors had seen all they needed to know the terrible danger for their minds swiftly went to the remains left from these vile and evil fruit. They set out to protect their own farms but it would turn out this raging fire would not remain contained on just the man’s own land.

That day was crowned ‘The Travelling Merchant and His Tempest Leeches’ and it was remembered by all who witnessed it and passed it onto their own children. Indeed, it was said to have been agreed that necessity demanded the event be burned into the memory of every generation henceforth. But the tale is not over. Horrified by what they saw the neighboring farmers called forth a council meeting and made it law traveling merchants were from that day forward banned from their town and to be killed upon sight. As for the man his crimes were so great that his name, but not his extreme carelessness and actions, were to be stricken from the mouths and histories for all time. The ease with which he uprooted his own certain harvest under the auspices of some foreigner’s tale about fruits without labor was to be an example to all who came after. Time passed and everything seemed to have settled down. There were no more raging storms and it seemed as though the soil of the man’s land was returning to normal. But soon, a few at first, plot after plot of land fell barren; their trees, which came from a long line of seeds passed down after each harvest, slowly withered away in a torturous fashion. Then, a familiar tempest followed and several after that first. Across the town familiar wisps sprouted their vile branches quickly transforming into unruly trees.

Unsure how to deal with these trees and with no obvious way to keep the fruit from engulfing the entire town in chaotic explosions and destructive fire a council was again convened. First they tried to contain these trees and plot new acres of land which they would plant all but a few of the remaining seeds they had from their own harvest stocks. But these unruly trees could not be contained and at the slightest breeze their fruit fell upon the ground and their seeds were spread only to have the process repeat itself. Curiously, the council noted these seeds seemed to only grow on soil which contained budding blossoms of their own seed stocks. Something had to be done and they couldn’t simply sit and starve to death. But what? No one was quite sure how to deal with these vile things.

The town tried everything they could think of. They tried cutting the trees at the trunk only to flee as the fruit exploded even killing one man with his own axe. They tried setting the trees ablaze themselves in partitions but this nearly caused the entire village to go up in flames as they feared and so they were left dumbfounded and without the words to even talk about the problem. The trees were there in front of them yet they were so stricken with helplessness and suffering from lack of the fruits of their own harvest could but only stare without noticing these trees. People knew there was a problem, the felt it deep down, but they did not have the words. Then, one day a man arose and screamed at the top of his lungs. He screamed so loud he nearly lost his voice. It’s said that when the man finally let out his last breath and fell silent again for a short time after everyone could feel the rage and fury emanating outward from him. They knew the feeling too for they felt it themselves. And all the town screamed with such a fury, with such an ancient anger drawn straight from their bones, that words seemed to come back to them once again. Renewed with anger and passion to not suffer their fate willingly they came up with an outrageously absurd idea. They would plant the last remaining seeds right next to these evil trees but not before they gathered what seeds remained and channeled their fury, hatred, anger, and passion to live into these seeds – their last remaining hope to hold on to their homes and their children’s future.

You see, they didn’t change anew what they had to begin with. They merely adapted it and infused it with a magic unlike they’d ever experienced in their lifetime to face these threatening trees. The next morning, they planted one hundred seeds – all they had left – next to a grouping of trees in the middle of their town. The town members took turns to watch over their seedlings, careful to water them and give them the Light they needed without too much disturbing the existing trees. There were a few close calls but the town was prepared and determined to take back what had been stolen from them through carelessness by one of their own and malicious hatred of that travelling merchant. To their amazement this plan seemed to be working. Not only that, but it seemed as if the saplings from their last stock were withering and drawing life from those trees around them which had for so long stolen the life from their own. A new problem surfaced however when the budding saplings, growing into young trees themselves, began to intrude into the space of the tempest trees and some branches became intertwined. This had the noxious effect of producing a hybrid tree that neither produced worthwhile fruit nor looked anything like the previous two trees. They did, however, come to find that these hybrid trees no longer exploded unless they were thrown forcefully into something. And so, careful not to disturb their own budding crop of trees or those of the tempest crop they cut away the hybrid fruit, lobbing it as hard as they could into the Elohim Tree forest thereby opening space for more Sun and its precious Light they needed, burning both hybrid trees once felled to the ground and their respective trunks.

This process took some time and required careful rationing of new healthy fruit borne by their magic-infused trees and careful trimming of the Tempest trees. It took years of this careful methodology to produce a sizeable enough crop to then start planting new seeds around the rest of their town but once this happened the effect was rapid and decisive. After hitting a tipping-point they had enough of their own crop to start a chain reaction that withered the Tempest trees almost overnight leaving only their own stock and crop behind infused with the memory and anger as magic which seemed to give them a new vigor than had their ancient ancestral trees had. The first set of that fateful last number of seeds which was their saving grace, infused with the anger and passion of their little village, has been immortalized and encased in a shrine for all to see and know and remember how close the town came to perishing forever at the hands of their own and a foreigner.

And so, ends the story my father told me and which you will one day tell your sons and daughters. Commit this story to your memory and do as I say and reflect on it. But I will give you a helping hand because it is a father’s duty to guide his children, protecting them from misinterpreting the story and life’s lessons. Like those trees who bore the seeds of the little town’s eventual survival we too succeed our previous generations and this succession of blood and oath gives us the liberty we so desire and the authority to assert it as such against the foreign motivations of others not like us with no knowledge of our history or kinship. Our liberty, my son, is a blessing and an inheritance from those who came before us – our ancestral forefathers – which they bestow this liberty as an inheritance itself righteously guarding it and bestowing upon us the wisdom to do the same for our posterity – your children and their after them. Inheritance is the foundation of conservation and its transmission. Our constitutions are the assertions of these inheritances by our forefather as an irreproachable divine blood-rite in the form of ink and parchment. We take that which is necessary for our own security and peace and yet cannot do without and entrust our children to take it from us upon our death and guard it with the utmost vigilance and ferocious savage protection. The liberty and security of our nation is preserved through a hereditary succession and right as inheritance passed down to us and from us to ours. If you forsake this necessary truth, or in some way can be convinced to make this into a rule of law you sign your own death warrant and that of our legacy and your children’s children.

But it is important to never get too far ahead of yourself in your looking to the future lest you forget your sacred duty given to you and deriving from your past. Too quote one of those wise men from our past:

“In this choice of inheritance we have given to our frame polity the image of a relation in blood: binding up the constitution of our country with our dearest domestic ties; adopting our fundamental laws into the bosom of our family affections; keeping inseparable, and cherishing with warmth all of their combined and mutually reflected charities, our state, our hearths, our sepulchers, and our alters.”

Image Credit: Hyperborean

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All your races are belong to us! Co-host of RadioTRS' philosophy podcast KulturKampf