The Storm That Unrooted The Tree (An Essay Upon Love)

I’m frozen in time and can’t move; it’s a masochistic purgatory as I barely stay afloat in the rapids of my thoughts. I seek the intention of being grounded once again and then an immense regrowth. The wind has cracked me in half; I fell hard, my roots shook. I now shiver because the sun has gone away. Like nature, humans are unpredictable; rain comes and goes, the sun comes and goes, it’s ever-changing and lacks stability yet ever-so lucid as it surrenders to what comes to or through it. Hypersensitivity becomes a main tool as raindrops bounce upon vibrant leaves, we seek the melody to sing us a lullaby but we’re repeatedly tortured by the screaming winds. The winds are so complex that they’re misunderstood and only cause an earthquake. There is no warm blanket of sun to heal us, to keep us from shivering. I’m freezing and my eyes are heavy; my roots are unstable.

How do I live with the dead undead? How do I sleep in this decaying forest? I must journey backwards to go forwards. I must venture into the depths. As I breathe deep, I find my Self in the clouds, in the ruffling of the nocturnal animals. I’m reminded of impermanence and grief – I seek solitude in the realms of the universe. I no longer seek distraction; I no longer listen to the complexities of the winds, they’re now my favorite and most painful song. I stand rooted once again, growing once again to share my natural beauty. I speak under the stars to your dead spirit – I’m numb but I still choose to mend, because a choice is always an opportunity. In the end, the stars are a man’s best friend and though they sometimes hide behind the clouds, they’re always there. I am one with the stars; the hue on my skin tells me so. And though I admire the stars, I don’t let them guide my way; I seek deep within and always find the buried key.

At times, when the sun rises, I find it difficult to stare directly despite my constant overcoming. I find peace in this. I mourn a ghost but a ghost doesn’t have a reflection – a ghost can’t see its reflection in the most stagnant body of water. Ghosts flood this forest seeking their souls. They seek love and throw away love because they’re too scared to find their bodies once again – and far beyond their bodies is what makes a limber tree; bending each and every way, always remaining resilient and centered – like a lonesome white crane remaining tall among the muck of the murky shallows; her tall legs keep her clean and her wings keep her free. She hasn’t grown numb or hardened because she remains in the present in order to survive. But first one must find their body; this is the first step to heal the dreamless ghost.

In the forest I’ve discovered the cure for all: Love isn’t the need for a sheltering tree, we can survive without others; we’re self-reliant. Love is consciously choosing the other partner as an extension of our selves, thus uniting the bond of two souls beyond reason. We don’t need or want; “needing” is dependence, “wanting” is possession. Love is choosing to be with another being beyond the pull of our toxic ego. I choose to love without attachment, the strongest love of them all and the most courageous to attain.

The pain of the seeming reality can at times be unbearable and deplete what life truly is. I woke up from this dream and continue to be grateful for it, but at times I can’t decipher between the dream and the nightmare that I’ve made peace with – though the puzzle is coming together.

Let these pages be the stairs to our undying love and appreciation for one and other; may you never miss a step, and if so, I will catch you. But then again, how can one catch a ghost?

©2019 Michael Angel Loayza Jr.

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