Začutila sem trepet sekvoje, dala mi je vedeti, da tudi ona ne bo več dolgo. Da nima moči, da bi dosegla polno moč odraslosti. Nima pogojev, v katerih bi lahko cvetela, lahko stagnira in podaljšuje agonijo iz ljubezni do mene. Nima podpore odraslih dreves in tudi njenih mladostnih vrstnic je z dneva v dan manj. Najbolj pa je podhranjena s hrano, ki jo ne more dobiti sama od sebe – od moje ljubeče pozornosti.
Pove, da je iz roda v rod izgubljala svoj sijaj in da pogreša čas, v katerem sem se stiskala k njej kot k mami in se ure pogovarjalo z njo o čudesih življenja. Spomnila me je, da sem jaz edino zemeljsko bitje sposobno ljubezni. Brez ljubeče mene, nje ni. Še me je ‘poučevala’ o mojih dosežkih in dosegla, da sem se sama sebi do konca odpovedala.
Pravi, da sem ‘ponosna’ izumiteljica strupov vseh vrst. Najbolj požrešna sem v uživanju ‘zdravil’, drog, s katerimi zaman poskušam utopiti svoj sram. Teh pojem več kot hrane. Izumila sem neskončno paleto ved, strok, religij, politik, ideologij, standardov, zakonov in pravil, ki mi zastrupljajo pamet in dušo stiskajo v jeklen objem. Izumila sem ‘izobraževanje’, ki me stanovitno pribija na moja dognanja in vse bolj uri v dušenju same sebe. Sem goreča zagovornica zatopljenosti v svoje tehnološke izume in ponosna nositeljica titanskih nadomestkov lastnih kosti. Sem uživaško zadovoljna brez lastne hrbtenice.
Sem vrhunska mojstrica v vojskovanju, političnih intrigah, koruptivnosti in morilskosti. Zanetim vojno in mečem bombe, da dobim kos območja, v katerem je še kakšna kaplja Zemljinega soka. Sem nenadkriljiva v sprevrženostih, pobijam ljudi za denar, posiljujem otroke, režem jim krila in jim pijem kri, zasužnjujem revne, izkoriščam naivne.
Neizčrpna sem v izmišljevanju načinov, kako vzdržujem neprekinjeno bitko s samo seboj. Izmislila sem si posel in legalizirala vojno. Prekupčujem z mojim popisom stvari in njegovimi ‘vrednostmi’. Rivarim po ‘trgu’ in promoviram najuspešnejše preprodajalce življenjskih dobrin in neskončne načine njihovega ropanja. Izmislila sem si tekmovalni šport in svoj morilski nagon prelila v kaljenje kontemplativnega duha. Izmislila sem si narode, se raztrgala na jaz in ti in ‘ustvarila’ idealne pogoje za ‘osvajanje tujega’ skupaj z ideologijo: domače ni dobro. Zdaj zadovoljna kupujem plastiko in zelje s Kitajske in si manem roke ob propadanju domačega ustvarjalnega duha.
Prosim sekvojo, naj neha, ker mi je telo tako trepetalo, da me ni več držalo na njej. Nog nisem več čutila in tisti trenutek se mi je smrt zazdela privlačna. Šest ur sem bila na višini več kot trideset metrov. Padec z nje bi bilo moje zadnje dejanje. Soočenje s smrtjo je v meni prebudilo moment, v katerem sem bliskovito doživela samo sebe brez vseh mask. Verjamem, da me je sekvoja ščitila pred udarom uvida vase, ker nisem občutila upora pred njim, niti strahu pred smrtjo.
Ohromljena od uvida nisem bila sposobna sama splezati dol. Lastnik farme, na kateri sem delala za hrano in spanje, me je začel pogrešati in za mano poslal reševalce, ki so z alpinistično opremo splezali do mene in me z vrvjo spustili na tla. Dogodek je prišel v lokalni časopis, kar se mi je zdelo malo pretirano. Še dolgo sem izrezek hranila v živ opomin na čas, ko sem ‘umrla’.
Moj pouk se je res končal. Zdaj vem, da sem morala poskusiti naivnost napuha, ker me lepa beseda ni ganila. Zdaj vem, da ima Življenje prav, vedno ima prav, ko pravi, naj ne jem sadov svojih spoznanj. Vem, da me je že nekajkrat na silo zaustavilo in mi poklonilo klofuto streznitve, pa sem še izbirala isto pot samo-prevare. Tokrat pa je bilo nekaj bistveno drugače. Če sem do sedaj le živela z grožnjo po vešalih, zdaj visim na koncu vrvi. Zmanjkalo mi je manevrskega prostora. Preostane mi le še popolno mirovanje. Le oči lahko še obračam, dokler se mi dokončno ne zavrtijo navzgor in obmirujejo v zrenju Boga. (iz vsebine ŠK Zgodba in pesem gozda)
Sledi: Pot mojih stvaritev 5 – Živa zakopana // Follows: The Path of My Creations 5 – Buried Alive
The Path of My Creations 4/6 – Proud inventor of poisons
I felt the trembling of the redwood, letting me know that she, too, would not be long. That she doesn’t have the strength to reach the full power of adulthood. It has no conditions in which to flourish, she can stagnate and prolong the agony of love for me. She does not have the support of adult trees and her youth peers are less and less day by day. But most of all, she’s malnourished with food she can’t get on her own – from my loving attention.
She says she has been losing her glow from generation to generation and that she misses the time I clung to her like to a mom and spent hours talking to her about the wonders of life. She reminded me that I am the only earthly being capable of love. Without my love, she can’t be. She continued to ‘teach’ me about my accomplishments and made me give up on myself completely.
She says I am a ‘proud’ inventor of poisons of all kinds. I am most greedy in taking ‘medicines’, drugs with which I try to drown my shame in vain. I eat these more than food. I have invented an endless array of sciences, disciplines, religions, policies, ideologies, standards, laws, and rules that poison my mind and squeeze my soul into a steel embrace. I invented an ‘education’ that steadily nails me to my findings and increasingly trains me in suffocating myself. I am an ardent advocate of immersion in my technological inventions and a proud bearer of titanium substitutes for my own bones. I am wildly happy without my own spine.
I am a top master in warfare, political intrigue, corruption and murder. I start a war and throw bombs to get a piece of the area where there is still some drop of Earth juice. I surpassed in perversions, I kill people for money, I rape children, I cut their wings and drink their blood, I enslave the poor, I exploit the naive.
I am inexhaustible in inventing ways to sustain an ongoing battle with myself. I made up a business deal and legalized the war. I bargain with my inventory of things and its ‘values’. I dig around the ‘market’ and promote the most successful dealers of life’s goods and the endless ways of robbing them. I invented competitive sports and poured my murderous instinct into tempering the contemplative spirit. I invented nations, tore myself apart on me and you, and ‘created’ ideal conditions for ‘conquering the foreign’ along with ideology: domestic is not good. Now I am happy buyer of plastics and cabbage from China and I shake hands with the decline of the domestic creative spirit.
I ask the redwood to stop because my body was trembling so much that it no longer held me on it. I could no longer feel my legs, and at that moment death seemed attractive to me. I was at an altitude of over thirty meters for six hours. Falling from it would be my last act. Facing death awakened in me a moment in which I quickly experienced myself without any masks. I believe the redwood protected me from the blow of self-insight because I felt no resistance to it and no fear of death.
Paralyzed by the insight, I was not able to climb down on my own. The owner of the farm where I worked for food and sleep started to miss me and sent rescuers behind me, who climbed up to me with their mountaineering equipment and lowered me to the ground with a rope. The event came to a local newspaper, which seemed a bit exaggerated to me. For a long time, I kept the clipping as a living reminder of the time I ‘died’.
My lesson is really over. Now I know I had to try the naivety of vanity because a nice word didn’t move me. Now I know that Life is right, it is always right when it says not to eat the fruits of my knowledge. I know that I have been forcibly stopped several times and given a slap of sobriety, but I still chose the same path of self-deception. This time, however, something was fundamentally different. If until now I only lived with the threat of the gallows, now I hang at the end of the rope. I ran out of room to maneuver. All I have left is complete stillness of mind. I can only keep my eyes rolling until they finally turn upwards and rest in the sight of God.
solahosta.com 
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