The Power of Life
by Kevin Alfred Strom
A FEW SUMMERS ago, I had to change planes at Philadelphia International Airport on my way back home from a trip out west. Philadelphia International Airport is not an attractive place.
I needed to go from my arrival gate to a departure gate in a distant part of the huge complex, so I had to use a shuttle bus. I and a dozen other passengers had an interminable wait for the bus to arrive, while standing in a chairless and filthy room that smelled strongly of cigarettes even though there was a prominent “No Smoking” sign on the wall. My theory is that the place hadn’t been cleaned since the Ford administration. The “diverse” workforce there didn’t look like they had much pride in the place. In fact, they looked like they shared at least one thought with me: They just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Finally, the shuttle bus arrived, discharged its passengers, and we got on. Then there was another wait of about 15 minutes, for no discernible purpose that I could see. I sat with my luggage and looked at my surroundings through the bus’s greasy windows and open doors.
As I sat and waited and inhaled air which smelled like a toxic cocktail of latrine, diesel exhaust, and kerosene, I noticed a remarkable thing. Except for my fellow passengers, I could not see a single living thing at that airport. There were no living birds in the sky, just metal birds. Not a single blade of grass was visible from where I sat. Every square inch of the Earth’s surface that I could see was paved with slovenly and lumpy asphalt and painted with faded aeronautical symbols. All around me, as far as the eye could see in every direction, were angular and ugly “modern” buildings of corroded metal and dirty glass, covering hundreds of acres, doubtlessly larger than some small cities. The sky was a shifting haze of different shades of brown and grey, without a trace of blue.
As I realized what I was seeing — or, rather, what I was not seeing — I turned in every direction to try to find an exception, to try and find a single sign of Nature and Life. But I couldn’t. It was a totally artificial, totally dead, world.
And just as I was feeling the bleakness and ugliness and utter totality of this dead world that man had built, just at that very instant, something amazing happened.
A dandelion seed, suspended by its little snow white parachute, floated in through the open door of the bus and landed on my arm. I looked down in amazement at this little answer to my seeking, at this tiny messenger of Life.
And I realized at that moment that this bit of genetic code, this seed, could utterly defeat and obliterate the huge city-sized complex of steel and wire and petroleum and electricity where I was temporarily trapped. The humblest seed has the force of Life within it. Through growth, it has the power to crack any stone and overturn even the strongest artificial foundation that can be built. And it has the power to multiply itself a million times squared and squared again. And it has the power and the patience to ever renew itself, to replace itself — and so to be ever young and strong and growing.
And that airport — and even all of Philadelphia itself or even all of man’s civilization itself — could not prevail against that single seed without the constant application of our efforts to renew what we have built. If our race dies, and with it the will to maintain our civilization, the seed will prevail, and in time the asphalt runways will be ground into dust again by the seed’s trillion offspring in a new green forest whose denizens will never know that they stand on what was once called Philadelphia.
The tiny seed which did not even span my fingernail has the power to do all this; it has the power of Life, the greatest power the universe has ever seen.
We too have the power of Life within us. We too can be ever-renewing, ever-young, vital, and expanding. We can build a world incomparably greater than anything which has been seen before. We can defeat the artificial construct of multiracialism. We can defeat the death-world of globalism and the “nation as idea.” We can build a blood-based nation. All Nature cries out that ours is the right way, the natural way. We have the power of Life within us. Our enemies do not. Their path leads to death. Ours leads to renewed Life and immortality for our people.
Life trumps the artificial constructs of man every time. Let us live our lives with that in mind.
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Source: American Dissident Voices, “The Nation as Idea,” 2006