Twig - Parenting - Billionaire
I
was a small tree, a mere twig by anyone’s standards. With no more than a
few leafs I embraced the warmth and energy of the sun. My roots took in the
water and nutrients that kept me alive and let me grow. I thought nothing
of my environment at this age; it is all I knew. I see my friends planted
elsewhere. Their soil lets them bear more leafs and makes their trunk
strong. Sheltered from winds that would blow me over, I live and grow
trusting my parents as they stay close to me.
In
time a small creature comes to chew on my trunk. In excruciating pain I
find I can do nothing to scare it away. I wonder what could happen. “Could
it possibly cut me down?” The beaver seems to tire and waddles off into the
forest leaving me, its victim, to deal with the wounds it caused. Still
recouping from my pain I thought, “that wasn’t too hard. I bet I could take
on more” with the immature vision of hindsight. Curiously I consider,
“maybe this has happened to them.” I glance at my parents’ trunk and find
to my surprise, an abundance of gnaw marks they have grown into. These
scabs seem similar to mine, until it rains one day and makes a puddle
behind. This wound was kept from sight; now made visible a side of
vulnerability through a window like reflection. There is a cavernous wound
that goes deep to the core. It’s so deep. I can’t imagine I’d be as well
off if I had it. They’ve had so much pain of their own. With hazy soberness
I think, “If I face a similar wound I should survive as they did.”
Sometime
later I have grown and hold many more leafs; another creature comes to
attack. The wounds of the last assault seem only superficial now. As the
predator feast the residual feelings of pain come alive again, making this
all the more real. Soon, just like the last, it gives up. My resolve is
strengthened. My belief in my perseverance is reassured, but I am left in
the dreadful clutches of a psychological fear. Days turn into years. Many
more wounds are inflicted. Gaining my own power I stand tall, learning to
grow into this harsh world I’ve found myself in.
In a daydream I imagine
myself an apple tree. I’ve grown tall with a strong trunk. Wounded with
marks of the past, I now hold a multitude of leafs. Roots run deep taping
as many sources of water and nutrients in our reach. With all that has been
achieved we consider passing it on. This year we are going to grow fruit;
fruit to live where we grew up.
With the highest of
hopes the flowers sprout and dawn the new life of an apple tree. The
liberating relief of beginning this journey, once enthralled with
anticipation, inspires friends to share their know-how. All too soon the
flowers grow heavy and pull at branches. With the lowest priorities I
wonder if beauty has been diminished. The flower now an apple becomes much
more real. The thought of what is to come flood my mind. Preparing in every
way we can imagine, I feel the day is near when the apple will fall and
start to learn about the world.
With such high anxiety
of the very moment, the apple falls. A new life is born. In our embrace we
shelter the apple as its youthful exterior melt away before our eyes. One
day I see a sprout appear right in the middle of the apple. It has begun to
tap its own sources. Soon I can no longer see the baby apple. Its roots
grow deeper and its twig like trunk grows taller, holding its adorable few
leafs for the whole world to see.
I notice I’ve
been in a daydream and wake. Now knowing what joy it can bring I ask
myself, "is this what I want in life, or is there possibly something
else worth considering?"
In the slumber of a
nights rest my mind awakens. I find I am a tall tree with many leaves,
branches, and a strong trunk supported by roots that run deep. Inspecting my moderate foliage I
discover I want more. Surely roots this embedded will support an
unthinkable abundance of wealth. So I toil day and night taping every
source of food and water I uncover, transforming them as I draw them up my
proficient trunk. One day with such a bounty, a gentle breeze shook leafs
and tugged branches. I ponder what a stronger gust could do. Like the small
start in a huge wildfire I find alarm ignited in me. With the desire for
more leafs binding my interest, I turn some of the sources I have tapped
towards my trunk. Gaining strength in hope that I could survive something
so disastrous, I eventually find I can grow no more. I have consumed every
resource within my reach. Now the only thing left to do is wield my
achievement for all to see, hoping that such events that could bring my
demise should never come my way. In a cold sweat I wake. I ask myself in
introspect, “is this what I want; to grow powerful pride only to dread
living with such imminent fear?”
I search for a meaning to my life while
considering these dreams. What purpose will my life bring? What could I
accomplish for it to seem of significance? Is there a meaning at all? Is it
worth the pain living through these attacks that have formed a hole? Some
creatures come to enlarge it. Birds peck violently. Ants swarm over. Damp
rains saturate. There are even things I cannot see. The harmless physique
of wind greets spores of bribery. How much deeper can this hole get before
I collapse? How empty must I feel before I can't take anymore?
This is obviously not doing me any good
as I dwell on this, so I try to forget them empty feeling. A long time
later I see that I am hopelessly unable to overlook, so I search for
something to fill it. I try things to ease the pain, to melt away the
concerns. Life slowly seems foggy, then what seems the perfect companion
comes in due time. With elating
relief I enjoy the presence that satisfies my concern and makes a day worth
living. The words spoken are like music to me, a sonata of warming
affection. It comes to make itself
at home and fill the hole. Sure it takes getting used to but there's
nothing that can complete me as well. In sweet surrender to hesitation I
open up, my attention flooded with this fulfilling presence.
After a long while the routine gets
old. I felt so whole then, why didn't it stay that way? This hole seems to have more room, so I
continue my search. I found this one thing that could complete me, so it
can't be that hard to find something else.
It seems if I just keep busy enough, striving to accomplish some
goal, I can keep the emptiness away. Why do I feel so alone anyway? I can
be in the middle of a busy crowded forest and feel totally alone, empty,
lost. I wish I could just figure myself out sometimes. I can't seem to
understand the point of it all. There are more why's then there are
answers. I’ve had many years to look for an answer but it doesn’t seem I
can find any satisfaction.
This companion I fell in love with gets
tired of my unease. I can't figure myself out, so with brokenness I see it
wants to move on. It leaves, but I can't take it. An explanation feels as cold as space is empty. The distress
I'm left in rapes me of purpose. I was strong then, but now I'm hiding in
the shadow of collapse. Maybe I'll
just give in; maybe I'll just give up. Maybe there is no purpose after all;
maybe there was never a meaning. What reason is there for me to continue as
these vicious predators tear wounds in me? That one was like a jewel, a
priceless treasure, but now the unreliable reality is revealed and I am
robbed of my attempt to live. Is
this as deep as the hole gets? Can it be repaired? Can I just try to move
on and start over in my dreaded attempt to live?
Do I need to try this parenting thing
out? Should I give up that desire for freedom since being free leaves me so
vulnerable? What if I gave up the attempt at a relationship totally? I
would be free to try that other dream, I could reach for the stars; I could
climb to the top. But what good would my wealth do me? Could it possibly be
more completing than a companion? Why does it seem I can't fill this hole?
Why do I feel so empty?
© 2004 Kai Napohaku