Chapter Seventy Four: A Speaking Voice

A passionate voice can be heard out of nowhere, ready to tell it all:

Nobody knows how many times I have already died, but I know it myself, because I was there the whole time I was dying; I have truly felt what death is accurately like, and this is my testimony. It came multiple times, in my entire existence and still counting; as a person, mother, brother, father, or sister, death lurks in the most unexpected places. I know my feelings are valid because I am a human person, I came to be one, at least I know in my heart that I strived very hard to become better to fit the description. Yet, I can directly say that nobody can take away the opportunity of my person trying to grieve an unexpected loss. Death is mourned, and it needs to be carefully done. Even if I cried multiple times, there is joy to be savored somewhere; because of this seemingly incomprehensible paradox, I am now fully aware and dedicated to improving my habits and the associated emotions that comes enclosed within.

In my very frequent overthinking, I learned to envy the trees when it is trying to shed its leaves to ready itself from the cold months of winter, not when it has worked very hard growing itself without complaint at the onset of spring, and then step into the glorious days of the hurried summer, only to repeat the whole process again once the season of autumn arrives. Everything then falls to the ground.

How can it prepare for death so briefly, but admirable?

I guess that is how the career of a tree was supposed to be like, according to the great design as originally intended by God, or any other Higher Being who is capable in manifesting himself in many different shape of beliefs, truly present, absolutely present in everything to see and to marvel in the expression of joy of the unseen. Both in the presence of the mind and the sensations of the body, spirituality is everywhere to be seen and felt, in the fullness of the wonderment of creation, and in the complete discernment of the purposive nature of the determinant soul.

I have always assumed that majority of the variety of trees survive for many centuries precisely by invoking this very nature of its capacity in accepting loss by its mechanical shedding; and further by virtue of this repetitive practice in acceptance, it has truly mastered this difficult art of letting go, making itself new again, more accepting of its natural design everytime it happens, confident in the knowledge that it is more capable of shedding the leaves it has tried very hard to fully regrow over the short term of spring and into the summer, in order to be metaphysically renewed again, patiently waiting in complete solitude for the snow of winter to finally thaw. Precisely, it came to pass.

Trees, by its very nature, is a magical creation that thrives among us, supplying a very crucial ingredient of life called Oxygen, the air our respiratory system needed to process the cellular functions of all animal systems in general. Forests and plants definitely co-exist as a mutual relationship organized to support and complement each other, that while Carbon Dioxide becomes the known waste byproduct of zoological respiration, this important form of gas is then absorbed by plants to aid its food production, in a complicated process known to science as photosynthesis.

Truly, how magical creation the trees are!

I have also wondered if plants actually feel pain when its branches are cut, or when its trunk is bruised; but if it does indeed, then it is very good in hiding the pain it feels while it is still capable of regrowing its leaves and flowers, and everything else that makes these botanical species admirable both in its natural design and its marvelous inherent characteristics.

But I guess trees do not feel anything because it is not conscious, for it is mainly composed of the systematic cellular composition of plants, and there is no rational necessity for its existence to move from one place to another to require a mind, not with the strength of its deep roots. The trees were painted as a still life, and not all everything requires a reaction; admittedly, there is a certain power to be seen within the existence of the trees that is alive, yet slumbering, oblivious to the human senses.

For indeed, to feel the ultimate purpose of pain, one must be able to think from memory. It requires movenent and action, reflexes, and a desire for interpretation.

And there, I guess, is where the magical and miraculous properties of these wonderful trees actually lie. While plants are intrinsically denied of this same rational capacity of expressing pain and suffering (as it is also presupposed by this writing), its commitment to remain in complete service to all living creatures that were naturally created to be governed by life's grand design remains part of this divine mystery, in all of its glory, to thrive with life, not by a resultant accident, but part of its most persuasive necessity to exist.

I guess this is how miracles inherently work. It is merely residing in creation hiding in the very nature of the supernatural, actively participating in life without being too obvious about it, like the subtle messages of the angels, when seen from the signs of nature; there is, indeed, an embedded power in the hidden qualities of nature and in the purported chaos of life. The voice of God is drowned by all the noises of the world, and quite a few of them who suffer from the callousness of materialistic desires loses their predisposed capacity to dream, and then to retain the ability to recognize the simplicity of miracles.

And to dream big, that is the essence of miracle! 

My best wishes to all.

I remain to be,

BELOVED.

And I am speaking to no one from 

a corner of the imagined Space

And the Fictional World.

x------------x

This Chapter is sponsored by IWC x Prada.