Some are afraid of thunder and recoil from the storm and lightning that follows. I myself feel exhilarated. I stand in awe of the forces of nature. When the lightning tear the dark sky open in momentary, blinding flashes and soon the air is rumbling and crackling with electricity, I feel alive. Near danger and alive. A danger I cannot grasp. It is so close and yet so far. I want to go to the window and face it – even though it is dangerous to do so. I want it to strike my soul and become alive, not stay dead. I catch myself wondering: When will the lightning strike close to home? When will it hit a lonely tree far out in the moor? Its merciless, arbitrary hits. The anger, the punishment of the gods. To remind mankind that they haven’t forgotten us. And I think we need this reminder; we need this soul-trembling fear and awe to rip through us every now and then. To remind us of our own mortality and humble us. That we aren’t immortal and invincible, nor masters of the universe. That we cannot go on taking and taking from nature and never give anything in return; never stop to consider the scale of balance. I am not religious, I don’t know what I am, but I do believe we cannot go on like this unpunished. In the end, Mother Nature will do so. Thunder is merely her angry growl resounding disappointed across Earth every now and then. If there are any gods, they are only talking on behalf of her, carrying out her orders. They may not have forgotten us, but I believe they have given up on us. We are creating our own doom, however slow or sudden it may come. It is not a bleak future here and now, but if we do not stop up and listen to nature we may not give the next generations any future at all. Am I preaching? Maybe I am, and I myself am a hypocrite because I live life right here, right now, not contemplating to contribute with a next generation myself. Yet, I try to do however little I can to not put anymore pressure on nature. I want to live a somewhat simple life, and in my idealized, spoiled mind, thinking I can have a bit of both worlds – the riches from capitalism and the ethics of asceticism. I do not know if I will succeed in this or if this too will prove to be hypocritical. I often dream I – in the not so faraway future – live in the misty Scottish Highlands or on the windy coasts of Ireland, alone and unafraid in peaceful solitude – with nothing more than a dog for company – and become one with nature. Lay my head against the earth or up against the wind and listen to its voices. Will I ever be able to do so? Will I only isolate myself from the real problems of the world, convincing myself that I give a damn? Because I do – oh, I do! And I will try not to be a hypocrite, I will try to contribute to the world and help the next generations however much I can even though none of my blood will likely be among them. I will not stay selfish and above it all. I will stay in awe when thunder comes and reminds me of my fears and my light, still burning. I will try. Even if it means all I can do is listen and report – or if it means I cannot only listen but also make do. I owe it for existing. I cannot be bleak even though the future – close up or far away – may be. It is my promise to myself and whoever listens.