Finding the Mango Tree

A festival was being held in Nu’s town. The streets were filled with brilliant lights, laughter, and love, but Nu felt an unconquerable loneliness. The joy his friends seemed to be having felt leagues away. He could not understand the morose waves that had over taken him.

Unable to enjoy himself, Nu decided to take a walk though the woods until the festivities died down. To have such joy flourish while he suffered emptiness was unbearable. Nu came upon a woman whose legs were woven into the roots of a mango tree. Mangos dangled in front of her and she devoured them greedily, juice dancing down her chin. She passed her blood through the roots dug into her thighs upward. She giggled to herself like she and the mango tree passed a joke with the exchange of fruit. A caress in a language only the two of them understood. Nu sighed and asked,

“How do you giggle with laughter when you are alone, trapped within a mango tree? You suffer a hell of isolation. Why do you smile?” The woman laughed raucously, leaves shook down from the high branched of the tree. Fruit fell.

“The real question child Nu, is why you think you are alone? There is no separation between you and the wind. You are just alive as the river running and the owl watching. You are made of the same everything. You are bound by your mutual pile of debris washed up into a form which you call yourself. Can’t you see? You are not alone in the slightest. You are everything.” The woman cackled. She unlaced herself from the roots of the tree and became a heron flying into the horizon. She became blush of the sunset. Her voice welcomed him from the sky “Become, young one, become.” He desired to flow like the breath of life filling and vanishing from one body to the next. Nu looked for his own tree. When the rain came beating his shoulders, he giggled in relief.

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Lover of the written word, poet before anything else. Also sketches the human figure and listens to your highness Queen Bey. Always looking for fellow tea disciples to spill the Earl Grey. Intellectually spilt, of course.