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He who Loves not his Country Loves Nothing

…He who loves not his country loves nothing. It is withdom, it is pure truth.

“I am Sauti, daughter of the King Tarkil, son of Jankir. Many ages my family rulled in Northern Kingdom; in period of prosperity our lands extended from the Sea to the Mountains, and our people lived in peace and wealth. But Darkness came from the East, and together with it came the war – people from the Southern Kingdom attacked us. It was year 529 of the Fourth Era according to the Chronology of the Northern Kingdom. We fought. Father did not want to spill the blood, but we had no choice – soldiers attacked our towns and villages and killed the citizens. Everybody, everybody went up with sword in his hand, – men and women, children and old men; I had seen it all; I was there, in the fields, where people fought to death, and the steel blades shone in the sun… We defended our shrine – our land, that fed us, and gladdened us with harvests.

I am Sauti, daughter of the King; but I worked as much as others, I cured the woonded and burried the dead. And I saw everything. I have seen the warriors fed the ground with their blood, while the air was ringing with the battle cry. And those who had fallen, gave their lives to this land; all who had survived – gave their hearts…”

The man and his land are equal, from the Beginning of Times; we are connected with ancient ties, because people are the part of their country, of its nature. And those who do not respect their Motherland, deny the largest shrine in the wolrd – their ancient, pagan, mistical land, that even breathes with their own breathe… Leonardo daVinchi once said, that people could not love the thing they did not know… People do not know their land. They do not know the fresh winds of steppelands, do not know the songs of waterfalls, do not know the music of the mountains – when you press your ear to the earth and it speaks to you and sings to you with thousands of voices; when you feel the hollow rumble of its large heart, and the tune of your own heart – just the same – as if they were connected with invisible thread…

…He who loves not his country an love nobody. Indeed. How can you feed anybody, if your own plate is empty? How can you feel love, if you can’t feel the huge ancient heart of your native land just under your feet, under the grass that you trample so ruthless? And how can you speak about love, if you are not able to hear the voice of Love adressed to you?

…”I am Sauti, daughter of the King Tarkil, son of Jankir. I had struggled for freedom of the Northern Kingdom for many years, and my heart was broken with sorrow, when I saw the war and understood that love was the only our strength…”

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