An army might be sent upon the empty lands. The men come down from the mountains. Travel down along the river valley. Going with the fish seeking sea.
There they stand, the soldiers, and marvel. Looking at water frozen in motion, in a loop of evercoming animation. It lies like a sheet of paper cringing in fire, and at the same time glas cooled down into church windows.
There they stood, the soldiers, and marveled. Then they built boats and manned them. Crossed the sea, cutting through the glas that sprang into a thousand pieces and left a burning gap. But the paper cringed and folded over the hole again.
And so the army came silent. Invisible through the indivisible sea. And so they saw land again.
On its back it carried fruits of any kind. The essence of fertility. No high mountains with their sharp edges and cutting tops. Just flatness with neverending life.
It was as if sea came over land and mated. To be paternal to life in abundance.
There they stood, the soldiers, and marveled. It was new for them. There was nothing to fight, everything ripe for the taking. And so they sat down and ate.
But the fruitfullness broke them apart. Suddenly they weren’t soldiers, but owners. Everyone, with the power of his hands, declared himself lord over life.
And so did the one next to him. There weren’t enough hills for everyone. Not enough trees to build homes. And not enough rocks to hone knives.
And so everyone, with the power of his hands, declared himself lord over man. Taking hills over hills, and homes over homes, and putting fellows down into the mud.
There they stood, the lords, and marveled. Over all the homes they had built, and all the hills they owned. And all the man they commanded.
It was new for them. There was no one to fight, everyone ripe for the taking. And so they sat down and slept.
And so the people came silent. Invisible through the indivisible night. In the burning fires they saw hope again.
But the hope broke them apart. Suddenly they weren’t people, but opportunists. Everyone, with the power of his hands, declared himself lord over good fortune.
And so did the one next to him. There wasn’t enough fortune for everyone. Not enough treasures to burden. And not enough gold to blind.
And so everyone, with the power of his mind, declared himself lord over cunning. Taking fortune over fortune, and treasures over treasures, and depriving fellows of the shine.
There they stood, the blinded, and marveled. It was new for them. There was nothing to hold, but so much to look at.
There they stood, the deprived, and marveled. Over all the gold they didn’t have, and all the cunning who did.
There was so much to do, gold ripe for the taking. And so they sat down and worked. It was new for them.
And so the cunning came silent. Invisible through the indivisible trade. In the glimmering shops they took back everything again.
But the gold broke them apart. Suddenly they weren’t cunning, but snatchers. Everyone, with the cunning of his hands, declared himself lord over money.
It was new for them. There was no one to fear, everyone ripe for the taking. And so they sat down and relaxed.
And so the betrayed came silent. Invisible through the indivisible night. In the glimmering gold they saw fury again.
At daybreak, there they stood, the men, and marveled. They had become fighters again.