One day a root cried out to God, “What crime have I committed that I am always ignored, remembered only when I have to be killed?
All the hard work rests on me, tirelessly searching, finding food for tree;
Unseen, hidden I always lie, without a complain ever in my eye.
I struggle growing, spreading in the hard ground, held so tightly together by the mother earth, fighting throughout my life. Yet slowly & deeply I tirelessly penetrate only to nourish and experience the joy of my flowers blooming and opening their morning eyes to see this great creation of Yours, greeting the warm morning rays.
Bearing all the dirt underground, I feel proud to see my creation, flowers. But O Lord, inspite of the entire burden taken by me, why is it that flowers always find a place at your lotus feet and not me???”
God smiled.
He looked at him compassionately. He waited for a moment to pass and then said, “Without you, where are flowers. Without your existence, how can flowers grow? You are the reason for the flowers to flourish. You are the reason for their standing high to receive the warm rays of sun. Isn’t their reaching me amount you reaching me?
O child, it is because of my extreme love for you that I keep you always in my bosom. Not letting you leave me. Even a flower which owes its existence to you betrays you, leaves you. But I do not leave you. Did you ever realize your working harder gets you closer and deeper into me?”
He then took him by his hand and made him sit in his lap. He continued, “Your birth is in me, your growth is in me, finally when your end nears you, your death is in me. You are kept away from all the sufferings of this world: heat, cold and wind. You are safe with me, in me.
You are never far away from me, O child, then where is the question of you reaching me. You are living in Me than I living in you. How much ever hard you work, the peak of the tree will never reach Me in skies, whereas irrespective of your abilities, capabilities and activities, you are within me ever. Because of your association with the tree, it gets all the advantages of My association with you.
I am so possessive about you that I do not even let anyone see you lest, they take you away from me.
You selflessly sustain the tree, in turn animals, birds and man too. You are the basis for my creation. What more credit, rank and position could I give you son!
People talk of me as unknown and unseen. Aren’t you too, in the same way, unknown and unseen? I am the creator, sustainer and destroyer of this world. But you are a notch higher than me, since you are the creator and sustainer of the tree, birds and animals, thus ultimately supporting the life-force on earth. Destroying is left only to Me and man.” God laughed.
“Realize you are as much of Me as much as you know you are Me.”
Root silently slid and rested in God’s lap, into a peaceful sleep ever granted.
This post was never planned or intended. It visited me last evening...I just allowed it to write...flow...
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Hi Rampy, Great post. Quite different from your recent ones. The one on Stony Bench comes close though.
ReplyDeleteThe last line on Destroying is good. Did you intend it for environ awareness ? Destroying used to be with God, but now it seems Man wants autonomous charge !!
You should also write a post on What the Root would tell its Mother... Earth...
Best Wishes
Namaji
Naams, frankly, I do not think I edited this text at all. Only slightly here and there, but very minimal. It came out perfect right from beginning. Same is applicable with 'Destroying'. It came out as yet another para with this theme...thought...Just a Thought...
ReplyDeleteEnviron awareness is so high around now-a-days that even plants have become aware about their nearness to extinction! :P (A bit of exaggeration is permitted in imaginations :) )
Hmm...about a dialog by root with Mother earth, lets wait for another evening, when it spurts out on its own...
Sairam Rampy! Went through the post... Nice one... May this root generate many square roots, cube roots and so on, not to forget tap roots, bus routes and other related routes... I shall always root for you... Only hope u don't shoot me... (No pun intended)... Sorry, I too just let myself go... Could be disastrous at times... Sairam...
ReplyDeleteSorry to spoil the party here, but that personification simply rang a bell. And whom did I remember but that genius Blake, master of images. The poem that I am referring to is The Human Abstract, which is as follows:
ReplyDeletePity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Caterpillar and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of the earth and sea,
Sought through Nature to find this Tree,
But their search was all in vain;
There grows one in the Human Brain.
Let me honestly admit that the search was prompted by not so honourable reasons but ended up becoming some kind of academic input. But to get to the point, the strange thing is after establishing the necessity of the existence of the contraries as far as the virtues are concerned, the image of tree of deceit [now anyone should be able to guess the tree that Blake is referring to in not so many words and of course the fruit. At least people with Luciferian pretensions should figure that out! ;)] he consigns humility to the roots. And can we miss the implications of the last four lines where Blake locates the actual source for the creative and the destructive forces?
Superb!
ReplyDeleteHad heard a lot about Mr Blake's writing, but never overcame my laziness to read one. Finally, could witness today, thanks to this poem / comment.
Sure, its a starter for me on William Blake :)
Thanks again.
Addl. info: Critique analysis of the poem