The European People, particularly the People of Western Europe, have been wrongly demonized by history for far too long. Despite all of the negative propaganda permeating many professional and religious disciplines against my People, despite the odds against its open public presentation (and perhaps even active suppression), emerges the discovery of an Old European paleolithic system of abstract graphical communication which predates all known confirmed scripts, both alphabetic and hieroglyphic.
Even today, the scientific establishment downplays the importance of the European cave art symbols to the story of the historical development of writing. The idea that the root of an abstract system of written communication may actually be in Europe (especially one developed by indigenous European Cro-Magnon and European Neanderthal humans, perhaps even as early as 65,000 years ago) as opposed to in the Middle East, Egypt or Africa is distasteful to many.
We know that my own ancestral maternal and paternal DNA genetic line haplogroups (namely, U5 and I2) were in Europe by at least around 50,000 years ago. The dates for Homo sapiens known to be inhabiting Europe (and other places in the world as well) are being pushed back further and further into deep time with nearly each new discovery.
Despite the overwhelming propaganda against those of us of indigenous European Cro-Magnon ancestry, the writing is on the wall. Literally, the writing is on the cave walls of Old Europe. We are survivors. Our ancestors wrote on the walls to us. We receive their inmost longings. We breathe their spirit. They are us. Blessed be our Ancestors. Blessed be we.
Here is another poem I wrote over two decades during my Bardic phase. It is so appropriate for this period in history. Writing On The Wall.
what letters can tell
what words are worthy, to hold the story
the melody that plays the heart
fluid lights strumming notes with broken vessels
see it sounding, the silent utterance bursting full
with sweet contentment
what letters can be faithful to this rhythm
making life a divine rhapsody of soul
splendors laced with glory wine
waters in motion, behind the echo, echoless, timeless
ever flowing drops into thirsting dust
natural, ineffable light and dark, a breathing harmony
in the eyes of children, in weathered faces
filling up crying places
with hope, real and deeply present
what words are worthy to tell
of these wondrous times