Imagine: 2018. Part Two.

…Now imagine if you will a group of like-minded individuals unhappy with the stagnant quo who gather together to discuss and even experience the faith and traditions of their folk and forefathers. Together, they collectively imagine tradition embodied in a dilapidated farmhouse.

Walk there with me, down a gravel road, swaying fields on either side, a rustic timber fence missing a slat here and there, and a peeling white farmhouse just ahead on our right. We turn and walk down a neglected path to the sunken porch and climb a few steps, then enter through a torn screen door hanging by one rusted hinge. Inside the floors are warped but solid, leaves and pine needles strewn here and there, but there is a roaring fireplace in the center of the room, for no matter how neglected it may be, the fires of tradition never go out.


It will be neglected no longer, for our great-grandmothers were born here and they are calling us home, away from the distopia of modernity with all its waste and endless want. Here we will break the spell of The Forgetting. Here we will remember and we will Awaken. Walk through the house and into the backyard. Under the drooping fruit trees sits a well; one drink and you will see them – our hardened ancestors and the mighty dead. They are waiting for us each and every one to awaken from our collective stupor and stand with them, arrayed for battle with the modern world.

We can sleep no longer; the Awakening is upon us. Day by day, bit by bit, and piece by piece we remember who we are and awaken to a past that can and will serve as a template for a brighter future. Though some of us awaken slowly, others are jolted and shocked into awareness, but we are all on the path to that farmhouse; if you weren’t, you would not be reading this now.

So many are still lost.  They have forgotten who they are and where they came from. They have forgotten the blood, sweat, tears, and years that brought us all here. They have mocked, derided, and betrayed all that preceded them. This bridge, once burned, cannot be rebuilt. Roots, once severed, will never grow again.  This is why we must remember and awaken before The Forgetting takes us, before we are convinced that we have no culture.  Do not stray with the masses.  Remember who you are and all that brought you to where you sit reading this right now.  Never forget, they admonish.  No, we will never forget.

To be continued…

Rachel Summers
Known as the Dropout Philosopher, Rachel Summers walked away from the Ivory Tower, spent a year in a motorcycle mechanics program, and started research for her first novel, CondAmnation, in a local Harley Davidson shop. Her novels are what some have called a journey into antinomian mysteriosophy, where socially sanctioned morality is turned on its head in order to shake out just a few drops of enlightenment.

Summers holds degrees in History, Comparative Religions, English Literature, and Philosophy but ran afoul of academia when her dissertation proposal was rejected as something that might cause a scandal or, worse yet, cause the check-signing alumni to sign fewer checks. Welcomed to stay and write if she accepted a pre-approved project, she chose to leave and vowed to cause a scandal indeed, whether with pen or sword. She is currently writing her fifth novel as well as articles for the Revolutionary Conservative and Europa Sun Magazine; thus far, the sword remains sheathed. You can buy her books at