There's A Storm Coming
NOTE: The opinions and commentary expressed in this essay are those of the author and are an exercise of free speech. They do not necessarily represent the views of Free State Project Inc., its Directors, its Officers, or its Participants.
There's A Storm Coming
by Philip Denisch and Jan Maria Eiland
As the years pass, the world is congested with the detritus and trash of the bad ideas and misguided notions of those who would rule us. The very air is thick with the litter and waste of politicians and do-gooders who believe they think better than I do. The youngest among us have had minds polluted with half-truths and untested posits most of us don't even see it happening.
In the distance, though, is a flash of lightning. It is terrible in its power and speed. It is brilliantly clear with a rarely-seen sharpness and exactitude. Clouds boil and churn on the horizon, moving closer by the minute. They tower and darken the sky, softening the air, and cushioning the world against the coming fury.
A pleasant breeze begins its course along the ground. As it quickens, it picks up the loose tatters of authoritarian ages and plasters them against fences and poles. The tatters remain there, motionless, pinned in preparation for decontamination.
Small drops of rain are felt on the brows of those looking across the dump heap of the present. Their nostrils quiver at the stench of the city's putrefied body. The rain mixes with their tears as they weep for this once-beautiful place. They don't know the storm's intent; they are unaware of the gift they'll receive.
The wind increases, tearing through the trees, wresting loose dead limbs and weak leaves. It whistles though the wires overhead, testing their strength, checking their abilities. It howls as it passes between buildings built long ago, too old to withstand the storms of nature and times of man. The newer constructs of misguided passions shake and tremble. A few places stand firm: They are new and strong enough to stand against the wind, unafraid as it goes around them.
Rain is falling full force now. It pours from the sky, washing away the centuries' grime on streets and buildings. The muted, dim facades shine once again as they'd shined when the original builders finished them. The rain becomes a deluge. It floods the streets, and trash is pushed along by the water rushing to clear the way. Sidewalks and grassy knolls are washed clean of so many life-haters' polluted, foul missions.
Vermin and parasites flee before the cracks of thunder. Highlighted by flashes of lightning, they scurry away, trying to escape the rain's ablution. The wind follows closely, blowing clear their dark, fetid holes and harrying them as they scamper fruitlessly for cover.
The storm rages no longer than needed. The rain slows; the excess slides down the streets and buildings, and seeps into the ground. The ground, now nourished, waits to grow. The walls and pavement are dried by our star to form puffy, white clouds that tease our imagination. The wind dies to a breeze that dances over the trees in the distance. Faint thunder chases the lightning down the valley its reflection fades, its charge dissipated, only a memory.
People emerge now, basking in the warm drying sun and the joy of a life refreshed. The storm is gone, the cleansing completed. Gazing across the valley and river, they see the Free State. They see a peaceful people minding their own business, creating no trash. No interfering pollution accumulates in the towns. No coercive regulation hinders voluntary exchange. No boom-and-bust cluttering and clearing preoccupies these citizens of the Free State.