Solar power, wind power, the way forward is to collaborate with

Hear, O children of the Earth, the words of Bjork, the seer of song, who uttered this truth: “Solar power, wind power, the way forward is to collaborate with nature—it is the only way we are going to get to the other end of the 21st century.” These words are not merely modern musings but echoes of an ancient wisdom, older than kings, older than nations, as old as the sun and wind themselves. For what she speaks is the eternal covenant between humankind and the living world: that to live in harmony, we must not conquer nature, but walk as her companions.

In this saying, the sun and the wind are not tools, but mighty companions. The ancients bowed to them, naming them gods—Helios who bore the chariot of day, Aeolus who commanded the winds of heaven. To them, the ancients lifted prayers, knowing their lives depended on the mercy of the skies. And now, in our age of iron and fire, we return to this wisdom, for the earth groans beneath the weight of coal, oil, and smoke. The singer calls us back to reverence: not to worship blindly, but to collaborate, to share power, and to remember that nature is not enemy but ally.

Consider the tale of the Dutch, who, centuries past, raised their great windmills upon the lowlands. Against the threat of floods, they turned the winds into guardians, pumping water back into the sea and carving habitable land from the marshes. By working with the breath of nature rather than against it, they preserved their people and built a thriving nation. This is a parable for us now: that by bending not to brute force, but to the flowing rhythms of earth and sky, mankind may endure.

Yet hear also the warning hidden within the words. If we defy the sun and wind, if we scorn their gifts, we shall find ourselves adrift in storm and fire. The twenty-first century stands like a mountain pass before us, narrow and perilous. On one side, collapse; on the other, renewal. Only by joining hands with renewable power, with the patient rhythms of nature, can we cross into the land of survival. To deny this truth is to build upon sand, and the floods shall come.

But the teaching is not despair. It is hope, fierce and luminous. For when a people plants panels to catch the sun’s golden fire, when they raise blades to dance with the invisible wind, they do more than produce energy—they enter into kinship. They declare, “We are not rulers of this earth, but her children.” This is not weakness, but strength: for no empire built on domination lasts, but those who learn to adapt, to flow with the greater forces, endure for ages.

Take this lesson, then, into your life. Let your dwelling honor the light of the sun. Let your path be guided by the winds of wisdom. Choose the small acts: ride the bicycle instead of the chariot of smoke, plant trees whose shade you may never see, honor the rivers by keeping them pure. These are not small deeds, but threads in the great tapestry of survival. For every act of harmony with nature is a covenant renewed, a promise whispered to future generations.

And so, O listener, engrave these words upon your heart: to collaborate with nature is not only to secure energy or to endure the coming century—it is to reclaim the ancient bond, to walk again as kin with the Earth. If we do so, we may not only survive the years ahead, but enter them with dignity, with strength, and with joy, as a people who chose life over ruin.

Thus the words of Bjork stand not as prophecy alone, but as commandment: Do not wage war against the earth. For only by her side shall you reach the other end of the century, and beyond.