Post-Election Advice from a Troll
A few days after the elections, I visited Pia the Troll.
It had been about a year since the first time I’d met her. Our community is accustomed to stories about coyotes and even the occasional sighting of a bobcat, bear, or possibly a cougar, but a giant lady troll. . . I’d written it off as just another urban myth. So, I wanted to see for myself.
I followed the directions posted around town and headed along a dirt trail. As I passed through a wooded glen, my eyes glued to the tree roots that threatened to trip me, I was suddenly blinded by a spear of sunlight that flashed across the path. I raised my eyes and before me was. . .
“You’re the troll.”
She was gigantic. “Yes. I’m Pia.” She was sitting on the ground, her left leg tucked close to her body, her right leg slightly bent, her two hands stretched out in front of her, as though she wanted to hug me. She gave me the hint of a smile. “At your service.”
“I thought you were a myth, a figment of the imagination.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Imagination? What’s that anyway?”
I stood there dumbfounded. Then I remembered my father. “My dad was a Latin teacher,” I blurted. “So, I know that the word comes from the Latin imaginari – meaning both ‘to see oneself’ and also, ‘I the magus – magician.’”
“Good,” she replied. “You can see yourself in me. I’m a peacekeeper, and that requires magic.”
Was a troll actually talking to me? Or was I imagining it? “Pia, the Peacekeeper,” I muttered. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”
“Glad you like it,” came her response. “Only problem is, to keep the peace, there has to be peace. And right now, there’s lots of wars – against nature, as well as people.
“Yes.” I heaved a sigh of relief. This was more familiar ground – the theme of the book I was writing. “We’ve created a degenerative Death Economy that is consuming and polluting itself toward extinction. . .”
That was my first encounter with Pia.
Now, here I was again, standing before her. Things had changed since that first visit. Donald Trump had been elected again, my book had been published, and I’d visited Pia several more times. Imagination or not, she’d become an anchor for my meditations.
I found myself at her feet once again. “Have you followed the elections?” I asked. “The country’s divided. What’s a writer like me to do?”
There was a long pause. I was about to turn away when I heard, “Focus… on local stories.”
“What?”
“What’s the alternative to a Death Economy?”
The answer came right out of my book: “A regenerative Life Economy that pays people to clean up pollution, rejuvenate destroyed environments, recycle, and develop technologies that don’t ravage the planet. It leads to societies that produce locally as much as possible, don’t generate trash, and take care of people and animals who are unable to help themselves – an Ecological Civilization.”
“Do you have that here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
It took a bit of time before I found an answer. “Because this community, like so many, bought into the story that success is measured by maximizing materialistic consumption and short-term profits.”
“Ah-hah” she said. “The story. That’s your answer. All you have to do is create a new story.”
The thought stopped me. Could it really be so simple? In that moment I realized that the presidential election had been about two competing stories. However, neither of them did much to promote an Ecological Civilization. “How?” I asked.
“Imagination. It’s all about the stories you share. Time to re-imagine yourselves – become magicians, agents of change.” Towering above my head, she gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Write.”
“Write?”
“Writing is storytelling, isn’t it? Magic that changes reality. So, write about what this community can do to create an Ecological Civilization. Be a model.”
“I tend to think in more global terms. I write about international economics.”
“The global has to start somewhere. The world needs models. If not here, then where? If not now, when?”
I gave a little shout, “Yes!” Then I quickly glanced around, embarrassed. Thankfully, no one else was there.
“I hear a lot of ‘ought tos,’” she said. “And ‘should dos,’ that kind of preachy hogwash. It’s downright frustrating.”
“I agree,” I replied. “A waste of time.”
“How about,” she continued, “writing stories that imagine being where you want to be in 25 years – and how you got there?”
“Twenty five years… 2050.” Her words spun a tapestry of thoughts. “We could,” I mused, “invite people to write stories about living in an Ecological Civilization in 2050 — and the concrete actions they took to make it happen.” Images flowed of popular events like trivia nights and live music. “Offer readings at some of the local coffee shops and the bookstore. Produce an anthology. Award prizes for the most creative.”
She gave me a big grin. “Magic is fun.”
