maxixe
“The mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.”
1.
Asking questions is the only way to evolve.
Is that a correct statement?
Hardly so- the inquiry is not enough to ascend.
Ascension is what the birds claim.
Harmony through higher sight.
The winged ones can see all that is near and far.
Look beyond the bushes, they scrawl from rooftops.
Once there was a young human who liked to climb trees.
His curiosity arose through touch—rough bark on small fingers.
He rubbed the truck till his hands bled.
Pulling on boughs and pressing toes into the crevasses dug out by squirrels.
He saw nuts and crumbs of fir in the holes and left them alone.
Do not take what you cannot use, his Mother told him.
His Mother washed his bloody palms in the basin with a cool cloth.
She’d spread his hands and kiss each with a soft mouth.
She never told him not to climb, though; she’d clean his wounds.
As a young man, the body still sought his Mother to tend to his pain.
His anguish became more emotional than physical with age.
The scrapes, breaks, and bruises were written on his body like hieroglyphs.
Only he understood the language of his scars.
His lovers relished the stories—lithe women who decorated his bed.
Hair strewn across pillow sheets. He liked to fill their mouths with his fingers.
It was nothing like his Mother’s kisses.
Ada, a short girl with dark hair and high cheekbones, bit him.
He found he liked it, though never asked for it.
Inclined to receive, the boy had not learned to make a request.
His penchant for climbing persisted into adulthood.
The body studied rocks at school and took to landscaping to pay for the books.
His body was hard as the stones he read about.
His eyes were dark as obsidian.
He preferred magma over sandstone and went to the Small Isle to observe the desecration from volcanic erosion.
He longed to visit Pompeii.
The best part of the fire was the ash.
Ash was soft, light, and warm.
He liked the way the ash floated above the fire and settled below.
He liked to press his palms into the charcoal and smell the muddy earth.
The boy never camped as a child.
His relationship to the earth came through the navigation of trees.
A wide maple tree stood a little outside the park where the kids romped on weekends.
Its height was incomprehensible to a six-year-old child.
The leaves spun bright green, red, and gold with the sun.
Cherry blossom trees lined the park's ridge and spewed petals across the field.
The boy had no use for the fruit and flora.
At six, he was a little tall and light for his age.
Climbing was easy- he did it for pleasure, not sport.
The day had been sunny and dry when he decided he wanted to ascend the highest branch.
To look out across the field from the view of the leaves.
The tree received the boy, presenting each step with a nod and curtsy.
Pulling and pushing, the boy climbed. Panting a little harder with each step upwards.
The children on the playground paid no need to the little boy.
He disappeared about halfway up. He was concealed by the leaves that rustled and waved as he pulled onwards.
When the branches became thin and crackly, the boy leaned closer to the trunk.
He wrapped his arms around the circumference of rough bark, pressing his cheek to feel its heart.
Small bites.
I want to go higher! The boy said to the tree. She nodded.
Thunder in his bones, the boy leaned into the tree and used his legs to steady himself.
With each inhale, he felt his chest press into the tree.
With exhale, he felt the tree receive him.
Assertion cannot be forced, his Mother told him.
Never allow pride to obscure your sight of what is above or below.
The tree pulled him inwards as he moved upwards.
A bird called from somewhere high, teasing the boy to join it.
His fingers sweat into the tree's skin, and in this way, the boy was safe.
When the crown of his dark curls brushed the tip of the leaves pointed at the sky, the boy stopped climbing.
He reached up with one small palm and spread the leaves to see the painting.
Blue and pink and purple clouds like petals.
In the sunset, the boy fed the tree his tears.
The birds laughed- the tree doesn’t want your petty pains!
They dropped their eggs and went for dinner.
Taking wing with ease, they mocked him from a place in the bush the boy could not see.
Descending took much longer than he understood to be true.
The boy's feet touched the earth in a blanket of black.
He ran home with his body bright with the wishes of the sky.
His Mother was serving beef stew and bread warmed with cheese when he arrived home.
What are you full of? Said his Mother.
What do you mean? Said the boy?
You are rich and full; I see it in your face.
I’ve been climbing, said the small boy.
What did you learn?
The colours shift as the darkness arrives. It’s pretty.
Do you enjoy pretty things?
Yes, I like the look of it. It’s very sad when it’s over. Are the birds sad?
Why would the birds be sad?
To be so close to a sky that bleeds colour.
My son, the Mother sighed, serving him a bowl of stew; the birds breathe beauty. It is a wonderful thing to be witness to such great change. If you’re going to go that high, you will need to learn how to let go and receive the darkness.
It took me a long time to climb down from the tree in the dark. I couldn’t see.
You’ll get better over time, with practice.
What if I fall?
You’ll learn how to get back up.
What if I get hurt?
The sun bleeds each night so the moon can have its time. We all must go through an exertion to the point of unlearning what has been done. You will fall. And you will rise, my sweet boy. Like the sun.
Photo source.
