The fruit have rotted on the vine, in fact the vines have rotted on the ground, no more clinging, crawling forth from dark sacred places; abolished by sanctity, mortally wounded by technology. Is there no love for creation? It is written to "remain in the vine" and that "we are the branches"; every branch that does not bear fruit is cut while those that do are pruned to become more fruitful, but pruned by who or what. Toothy grins of politicians; the guard-ener has become careless; his actions no doubt clouded by corn syrup and aspartame, how many years will the garden survive full of weeds. Can hand held electronic devises and social media teach our children what it is to be a community and exist, fully conscious of the natural order of the earth; as if you could kill time without injuring eternity.
"The loss of local cultures is, in part, a practical loss and an economic one. For one thing, such a culture contains, and conveys to succeeding generations, the history of the use of the place and the knowledge of how the place may be lived in and used. For another, the pattern of reminding implies affection for the place and respect for it, and so, finally, the local culture will carry the knowledge of how the place may be well and lovingly used, and also the implicit command to use it only well and lovingly. The only true and effective "operator's manual for spaceship earth" is not a book that any human will ever write; it is hundreds of thousands of local cultures."