It was late afternoon in the jungle, Baloo and Mowgli were doing what they loved best, talking drowsily and digesting. Mowgli had his head resting on Baloo's shoulder and wielded a scratching stick on the bear's rough hide while asking questions and waiting for the answers. "Baloo, why do you warn me against the ways of the white hunters? Their guns make them the best hunters in the jungle; don't you want me to be a great hunter?"
"Their ways are not according to the laws of the jungle." Growled the bear, "They do not hunt for food as the native villagers, but for the pleasure of killing. I have taught thee better than that, little frog. Do not think of guns." "But are not their guns part of their ability? Just as Shere Khan's fangs and claws are part of him? What is wrong with their using the tools of their intellect likewise to kill?" "The laws of the jungle are there for us all, so that there is balance in the jungle; the dance between predator and prey is a delicate thing which the white man's intellect disrupts and subsumes into his world where all is a game in his own head alone." "What do you mean by this?" asks Mowgli, "How can the white man turn our whole reality into a game in his own head? surely the jungle is bigger than just a man." "Well, replied Baloo, "When a white man comes into the jungle, he's not just bringing himself. He represents a whole world that he brings with him. He brings the techniques and crafts of an entire civilization with him, his gun is made in a factory with the help of many, many men. The clothes he wears are made by others, his life is supported by systems of agriculture that give him his leisure to practice shooting and time to go 'adventuring' where he leaves his home and comforts so that he can feel real." "Feel real?" Wondered Mowgli, "What does this mean?" "What it means, little frog, is that in his houses with running water, his tv and factory-made life, the white man has become so divorced from the roots and essence of his existence that deep in his soul he feels hollow and cut off from the dance of nature. In his selfish need he feels he must dominate those that obey the laws of the jungle and thus catch a tiny bit of relief from the gaping lack in his own heart. So he makes a great big deal of 'honoring' nature by bringing his guns and camping equipment into our jungle and killing bears, tigers, snakes or whatever catches his fancy." "You mean he does this just because he misses living the jungle law?" "That is what I see" yawns the bear, "He makes a great noise about tapping into the hunter's soul, but his soul has been so twisted by his world that he never gets any closer to his life than when his hands are steeped in the blood of a bear." "Baloo!" gasps Mowgli, "I would never let a white hunter kill you. I have intellect also and I love thee more than my own life." "And I love thee, little frog, but thou and I are of the jungle and the white man is of a higher level, the level of society and intellect and we have to submit to whatever death man wishes to inflict. Even tho every death diminishes us and diminishes him and just creates the conditions for more soul-sucking need and more death." Mowgli thought and scratched a while longer. "Baloo? Let's get some paw-paws for dessert and sleep deep in the jungle tonight. Your words frighten me." Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
