“The evidence proving the reality of mighty catastrophes is scattered all about the face of the Earth, it is everywhere about us. To one who can read the geological record the story revealed is one of repeated world destructions, catastrophe layered upon catastrophe, one world built upon and out of the wreckage of former worlds. The sobering thing to ponder is that the wreckage of the previous world, the one whose destruction and disappearance from the planetary stage cleared the way for the commencement of the present age, is only 10,000 years old. The transition out of the last great ice age, the transition from the Pleistocene Epoch to the Holocene, involved a series of planetary convulsions of almost inconceivable violence and power. With only a few exceptions, the fact that an event of this magnitude stands at the threshold of recorded history and the rise of modern civilization, along with the implications that it portends, remains unrecognized and unacknowledged by virtually the whole of the human race.” – Randall Carlson
I spent most of my youth in rural Minnesota. The area where we lived, about 10 miles northwest of Minneapolis, was a rolling mosaic of hills, pasture, forest, meadow, agricultural fields, and countless lakes. The landscape was the product of the great ice age which came to an end only about 10 thousand years ago. The many hills were piles of earth and glacial till heaped up by the fluctuating glacier margin that advanced and retreated multiple times across the region. The many lakes were puddles of meltwater left over from the final retreat and melting away of the vast ice sheets that reached from more or less my back yard northward for some 2 thousand miles to beyond the Arctic Circle and all the way from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. At times the area where I lived was buried under more than a thousand feet of ice. 1000 miles to the north, over central Canada and around the region of Hudson Bay, the ice grew to be some two miles in thickness.
We lived on the shores of one of those tens of thousands of meltwater lakes spread across Minnesota and Wisconsin. The lake was about three quarters of mile in length and a half mile across and was named Schmidt Lake after two Schmidt families that owned neighboring farms. The two lane gravel road that passed by the lake and in front of our house was called Schmidt’s Crossroad. At first, there was only our house and the two farms bordering the lake. As a youth I would fish for bass, sunfish and bullheads (Minnesota’s catfish) from my backyard. Not more than a hundred feet or so from our property a large boulder, perhaps six feet in diameter, sat right at waters’ edge. Sometimes I would fish from this rock, other times I would leap on top of it to fight off imaginary monsters with my sword, which was usually just a stick I had picked up in the woods. Not infrequently I would wonder why that single boulder was sitting there in imposing isolation. I have no idea if it is still there and I don’t know from whence it ultimately came, but wherever that may have been I know now the means by which it was conveyed from its place of origin to its final resting place. It is, or was, what geologists call a glacial erratic, a boulder quarried from bedrock and carried by the advancing glacier perhaps many hundreds of miles from its source, to be deposited in a location far removed from its origin. Erratics are typically composed of a different type of rock than the local bedrock, which is a clear indication that their present location is a consequence of transport over some considerable distance.
I spent many hours of my growing up years swimming and canoeing in those Minnesota meltwater lakes, traversing her countryside by foot, by bicycle and on horseback, hiking and camping in her forests and meadows, but with only a vague conception of the mighty forces of which they were the product. There were days, usually summer days, where I might wander off for hours at a time in solitude, just enjoying the peace and beauty of the pastoral countryside in which I found myself immersed.
Frequently I would make my way to the top a broadly sloping hill near to where I lived, from which I could gaze down and around upon the expansive countryside. If it was early summer the fields of wheat and alfalfa swayed in the wind giving the impression of waves on an ocean of green speckled with countless numbers of lavender flowers. From this vantage point I could observe, nestled within the rolling hills, the brilliant blue of Schmidt Lake below, embellished with dancing sparkles of reflected sunlight. Overhead vast armadas of cumulous clouds would march in stately, majestic procession, always it seemed, from the west, traveling toward the east. They would regularly transit across the face of the Sun casting shadows upon the Earth below that raced over the land in synchronized movement with the clouds above, adding to the impression that the entire landscape was dynamically alive and in motion. The Sun would frequently break through the clouds in glorious, golden rays that would pour down in shimmering columns of light over the land. Sometimes I would get the sense that the whole vista spread out before my eyes was a vast, living work of art, that it was both concealing and revealing some hidden meaning, some deep mystery that awaited discovery and explanation. It was during these times that I would succumb to a state that I could only describe as rapturous. It seemed at times as if my mind would expand to fill the whole of the world within my purview, and for a few moments during these episodes I had the sense that time itself stood still.
Now, long after I have grown and moved to other parts, the Midwestern landscapes of my youth have left an indelible imprint on my psyche. From these early experiences I entered into a sort of dialogue with the Earth which continues unabated to this day. This dialogue has involved thousands of hours spent in the field, traversing and studying a wide variety of landscapes along with thousands of hours in the study of various sciences related in one way or another to the goal of understanding this extraordinary planet upon which we are engaged in this ongoing human experience.
The more I have learned over the years the more I realized that we can take nothing for granted. The leisurely pace that has characterized planetary change during recent history has frequently been interrupted by events that have profoundly altered the trajectory of both natural and human events. In the series of articles I have contributed over the last year or so one of the prevailing themes has pertained to global change. I made a preliminary case that a fundamental idea of the Grail Mythos deals directly with the utilization of natural forces of cosmic origin towards the rejuvenation of Nature in the aftermath of environmental catastrophe.
One of the founding fathers of the modern science of climatology, Hermann Flohn, after a lifetime of study of the climate, wrote in 1984:
“Climate –even under its natural development alone- varies continually. Each year, each decade, each century, each millennium, since long before any question of impact of human activity…It is important to gauge the magnitudes and time-scales of these variations, since planning should not be based on expectations of return to some non-existent norm. And the magnitude and extent of any changes attributable to Man’s activities –or even whether any such effects are occurring on more than a local scale- cannot be determined without knowing the range, and the likely timing, of changes due to natural causes.” The Climate of Europe: Past, Present and Future, p. 25
These words need to pondered deeply by anyone who presumes to have an opinion on the subject of climate change, especially by those committed to promoting the scenario of Anthropogenic Global Warming.
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