A story was told,
In the old tongue they say.
Whispers from another time—
Understandings of another way.
This tale, as told, speaks of a tree—
Born not of earth, but through flame—
And a lady of the moon, known not by name,
But by heart and her light, which is ever unchanged.
The tree’s existence was suffering,
For its bark was turned to ash,
Until the light of each full moon
Repaired its trunk, its bark, each branch!
Every time re-birthed, ever thicker and stronger still,
Thus the burn had to reach deeper,
But never found the mercy to kill…
It was a young woman who came across
This tree engorged in flame.
And found such beauty in its rapture,
Such mystery in its pain.
Many nights she came in wonder
And to stare upon its blaze,
Until one eve she again drew near
And witnessed something strange.
The full moon’s light, like fingertips,
Healing the fated tree.
Recasting its role from ash to whole—
in some lunar reverie!
“What is it you do to this being?”
The girl cried out in fright.
“Ahh, tis it you that wishes to save this creature”,
Beckoned back the light.
“Then climb upon its branches,
in and up through its torment—
There you’ll find the fruit,
That continues to keep it dormant.”
With that the moon’s light vanished
And with it, its silvery tone.
The tree continued to burn
And the girl was all alone.
She knew it was suicide,
As she stared off into this hell.
But she could not forsake the tree
And leave it to this spell.
With only a moments hesitation
And a deep twist within her gut,
The girl ran at the tree
And scurried up its trunk.
She was wrong after all—
This blaze was hotter then hell!
Her skin began to blister
And her lungs began to swell.
In her last moments of terror,
She could feel the tree urge her on.
It was this connection that drew her forward,
To the limb the fruit grew on.
Her death began to grow within her,
Stealing away all her breath.
The numbness in her fingers
Told her she had but moments left.
With the last strings of her strength,
She drew the fruit to her lips,
And suddenly was swept away—
In the magic of a kiss.
These lips rooted somewhere deep,
Such a familiar touch they had.
And when she opened her eyes to the tree,
Instead she found a man.
Her skin no longer blistered,
There were no scars to be found.
Her deed had healed her flesh,
From her heels up to the clouds!
“Thank you,” whispered the man,
“For doing what no one would.”
It was in this fated moment,
She finally understood.
What heed might you take from this story?
What wisdom can be found?
We find love in our actions,
Not the matrix of a sound…
Our deeds are our choices
And our choices become our fate.
And it’s often in moments uncertain,
That we can find our highest place.
So when you face-off with that challenge,
That fire in which you fear,
Hold tight to your courage,
That love may draw you near.
Author: Rainer Jundt
Assistant Editor: Hilda Carroll/Editor: Renée Picard
Photo: Thomas Kelley/Unsplash