(Continued from The Jungle)
“Enter man, who burnt a clearing in the jungle and himself a hut.
Those that use claw and fang, have nothing better to fight with. Those that don't; shouldn't try to fight.
They should burn the jungle down.”
Man looked down upon the gathering in front of him, his eyes glowing with rage. The jungle was closing in on them, mocking their efforts to find a space in its entwined limbs. His tribe was helpless, cutting each other down in a last frantic effort to find an opening for their clan. They hated their clan too but they needed each other for survival, for passing their genes on. Other clans were a different matter, they were expendable.
Across the world the battle was fought, the first of many to come, man vs. Nature, each trying to dominate the other, each trying to mark its supremacy but none prevailed. Generations of Man vowed to win, to survive and yet nature seemed invincible.
At night, Man lay on a rock, shading him from the torrents of rain that nature was throwing at him, ready to give up, ready to accept defeat, ready to be another species hiding from nature’s fury. In a last pang of frustration, he picked up a pebble and with all his hatred threw it at the rains outside. The winds howled in laughter.
Man kept throwing rocks and nature continued to mock him. In one last fit of rage, he picked up the last rock with his bloodied hands and threw it at the floor in front of him with all his remaining strength. They say, he wanted to break open the heart of Gaia, the Spirit of the Earth.
All he saw was a spark.