Crone energy

My project for the Sentient Forest is to explore Crone energies in the north. Look, I don't know what that means either, but I had to say something.

Fortunately, I have done some of this kind of exploration in Northamptonshire.

All Cronishness aside, though, I am finding it harder and harder to articulate my thoughts. Yes: really. When I speak with people, I feel like I'm saying the opposite of what I want to say. If I want to say anything. Maybe I don't want to say anything. Maybe I think all the saying is, in fact, bollocks.

Maybe I want to be left alone and to leave everyone else alone.

Maybe I can't bear other minds.

Other minds... yes... they are black boxes that exert a magnetic force... sometime attraction and sometimes repelling, but always locked into themselves. Behind those eyes, that screen, that keyboard, a whole world of confusion and feeling that I find rather terrifying.

I read of a farmer a century or so ago, who'd caught four wolves. He kept them in a pit, starved them. Then he went down and cut all their hamstrings. Dragged them up one by one for his dogs to tear apart. Took about a minute. The writer describes the gaping, agonised mouth of the last wolf, the rolling terrified eyes. I can't get the image out of my head.

That agonised terror. It's like, somehow, everyone's minds are like that, desperately seeking salvation. Or, the reverse, the blank eyed farmer, only smiling as the wolf is torn apart.