Not all has been lost. There are still mountains, and there are still people who inhabit unknown lands. These people do not live in the same places, nor do they have customs, traditions or laws. Their wandering through valleys and over peaks is governed by the immediate, by the fogs and rains, the sunsets and winds, those of their soul and those the heavens bestow.

  The forests provide their subsistence, and their animals roam with them. Their only religion is life and death, both of which surround them. The women give birth to their children on freshly cut oak leaves, and the dead are buried naked, the same way they entered the world. They bear the weight of life without complaint, and their gaze is clear and deep.

  They know of cities and their inhabitants, but they never set foot in them. They know of wars and of hate, but they do not kill. They know the remoteness of the stars and the immensity of the sky, the solitude of planets and the wisdom of astronomers, but they study no science; it would help them neither for dreaming nor dying. The seasons and the days roll by while they walk without pausing to consider time. You could not distinguish them from common people if you looked for them. Just the same, if you ever find them, let me know!