Composed Date: July 10, 1994
A strong wind is forcing the dark cloud. Water is pushing towards the beach and leaves white foam behind. With a heavy load on his shoulders, he gazes at the waves and throws the heavy bundle into the water. He sits on the sands, where the water meets the shore. The bag is still floating on the water's edge. He suddenly gets up, kicks the bundle several times, and shouts: "Take it. Wash it away. I don't want them anymore." He kicks the bundle several times, pushing it further into the water until it floats away. He sits back again while staring at the waves and whispering: "Take the past away. Take all elements of hurt and deceit. Take it all; saws, ropes, tools, everything."
The wind blows harder. His shirt collar is shaking in the wind, touching his face, which is covered with tears. He whispers, melancholy, as if speaking to the roaring waves: "It was only a cherry tree. Not very tall, but strong and fruitful. It was located next to my house, just by the fence. As if the tree was made to be abused, children would break its branches to make a steak for their games. Passersby would pull its flowers off branches to put them on their collars. It was still producing a lot of cherries abundantly. This tree was there to give fruit and be punished for its goodness. People pulled those ripe fruits so hard that they kept breaking all the branches."
He takes a deep breath and continues, "At first, I was angry at the people who were treating the tree so roughly. I began telling them to stay away, thinking I was protecting it. But in reality, I was just jealous, as if that tree next to my house belonged to me alone. I kept those people away so I could mistreat the poor living thing even more. I would stick flowers that could one day become fruit onto my collar, break branches to use as supports for other plants in my backyard, and pull cherries so hard that I would separate leaves and break branches. I even tied a big rope to two of the branches to use it as a swing. Each time I swung from it, the poor tree would shake from its roots."
He wiped his cheeks with both hands and continued: "I cut all the branches last year to keep the shade away from my grass. It stopped fruiting. The poor thing could not take it any longer. Finally, just yesterday, I cut it off. I could do anything to the poor thing I wanted to. Then, why not kill it? I looked at the stump today and, for the first time, I wept because of what I did. This tree was my companion, which I did not realize until it was no more. The lack you realize after the demise. What a treasure I destroyed. I could not bear it any longer. Now you can take all the tools of hurt and torture causing pain to the poor thing, and wash them away."
At this moment, he lets out a deep sigh and says, "I am not completely lost. There is still a small branch protruding from the bottom of the stump. I am going to nurture it and work towards growing it into a cherry tree. I might succeed, or I might fail. But if I succeed, I will understand the treasure it is and how to keep it healthy. Sometimes, you don't see with your eyes, hear with your ears, or feel with your heart until it is no more."
He gets up and walks directly toward the water. He scoops some into his hands and splashes it on his face. Thoughts of a new person fill his mind as he contemplates how to be as humble and generous as the tree. He appears different now; a frown creases his face. He stretches his arms and stands still for a moment, then walks back in a straight line. From behind, with his torn clothes fluttering in the wind and his arms hanging loosely, he looks like a cherry tree.
He takes a deep breath and continues, "At first, I was angry at the people who were treating the tree so roughly. I began telling them to stay away, thinking I was protecting it. But in reality, I was just jealous, as if that tree next to my house belonged to me alone. I kept those people away so I could mistreat the poor living thing even more. I would stick flowers that could one day become fruit onto my collar, break branches to use as supports for other plants in my backyard, and pull cherries so hard that I would separate leaves and break branches. I even tied a big rope to two of the branches to use it as a swing. Each time I swung from it, the poor tree would shake from its roots."
He wiped his cheeks with both hands and continued: "I cut all the branches last year to keep the shade away from my grass. It stopped fruiting. The poor thing could not take it any longer. Finally, just yesterday, I cut it off. I could do anything to the poor thing I wanted to. Then, why not kill it? I looked at the stump today and, for the first time, I wept because of what I did. This tree was my companion, which I did not realize until it was no more. The lack you realize after the demise. What a treasure I destroyed. I could not bear it any longer. Now you can take all the tools of hurt and torture causing pain to the poor thing, and wash them away."
At this moment, he lets out a deep sigh and says, "I am not completely lost. There is still a small branch protruding from the bottom of the stump. I am going to nurture it and work towards growing it into a cherry tree. I might succeed, or I might fail. But if I succeed, I will understand the treasure it is and how to keep it healthy. Sometimes, you don't see with your eyes, hear with your ears, or feel with your heart until it is no more."
He gets up and walks directly toward the water. He scoops some into his hands and splashes it on his face. Thoughts of a new person fill his mind as he contemplates how to be as humble and generous as the tree. He appears different now; a frown creases his face. He stretches his arms and stands still for a moment, then walks back in a straight line. From behind, with his torn clothes fluttering in the wind and his arms hanging loosely, he looks like a cherry tree.
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