The electrical transformers now in place seem as congruent with the land as a pizza parlor would be. . . . Akcil is an Iron Age settlement once removed. It emanates from the rock and shares its roughness. It has no connection with modern events or thinking. Its people live in stone huts of the approximate comfort of chicken coops; a thousand years have not changed the way they marshal their animals and haggle with the soil.
The problem has to do with our senses, and with the curiously impoverished view of reality that we hold. . . . Wine, mescalin, pot — all these chemical ways of solving the problem tend to let us down half the time.
Do not blame God for humanity’s predicament.
Do not blame human beings either.
We just happen to be participating in a peculiar local distortion of reality. The planet Earth is as near to a mistake as the law will allow.
I came of age politically on a beautiful Fall day more than twenty years ago.