HISTORY OF THE END OF THE WORLD

WE ARE ALL PASSENGERS

Traffic was abundant at the Cross Roads on this summerday in spring. Pdestrians, cyclists, bikers, cars, vans, trucks and even a quad. Strangely enough the cars and trucks claimed their rights of paassage and frustrated the cyclist, the walkers, users of rollators, invalid-scooters and whelchairs. Survival of the Biggest,

And people taking their dogs for a walk. Lots of them all kind of dogs and people from all ranks and levels of life.

Unknowingly they were all attracted to this spot, a powerpoint in this town where a statue depicts the main character of a world famous local writer.

Who, by the way left his hometown at 18, never to return and moved to Amsterdam. A house where he had lived as a child, stood nearby.

A powerpoint is a cosmic focuspoint of ancient power and forgotten rituals.

Once this crossing marked the entrance to a religious area of worship and prayer. They had, coming from the North, through the gates, passed several waterways, reached the final bridge leading to the holy island and the Mountain. To the left the ceremonial ridgeway opened up, leading to the Holy of Holiest, up the hill.

But this is by no means on the minds of the people with their vehicles and dogs. They are here to buy and sell, earn money or spending it. Even a dog is taxed in these days.

By consuming they try to escape from the stress and pressure at home.

I sit there and watch. Nobody goes left to enter this stairway to Heaven. There is where the answers are kept, so desperatedly needed in these desperate times. All are circling around after material purposes and finding no way out.