The wizard tree
part two

The prince stood and looked at the gravel on his hands and saw no tree. His shadow branched out from his feet as he saw no tree. The shadow of his hair rustled like leaves, and still no tree. He spread out his fingers, and in his shadow they twigged forth from his arms. "Only one tree grows above the treeline." Make it yourself.

He looked down. "Wizard tree?" he said.

His shadow bloomed out across the entire rocky summit. Its branches multiplied and divided; its leaves added and forgot to subtract. "Yes, prince," it said in the shadow of his own voice.

"I come bearing a question."

"As do all who come to me," it replied. "For if they know the answer already they never find me."

The prince stood silent.

"You ask a question on behalf of your people," said the wizard tree.

"No." The prince hung his head, a little, and glanced again at the gravel on his hands.

"You ask a question to prevent a war."

"No," said the prince.

"You ask a question about the hunger."

"No," said the prince. "Those days are gone, tree, when kings and princes were certain enough of their own feet in their boots that they could go on quests on behalf of others. I come to you with nothing but my own uncertainty."

"Then ask your lonely question," said the tree.

"Well," said the prince, with no gravel on his hands. "I want to know..." He trailed off.

"Yes?"

"How does it live?"

"What?"

"I said, 'How does it live?' "

"How does what live?" The tree was irritated: it was not supposed to be the one asking questions.

"It, all of it. The horse I rode here on. That foul woodchuck. Me. The land. How does it live?"

"Ah, so you, like so many before you, have come asking for proof of God. For greater meaning."

"Not really," said the prince. "For that is the answer to why we live. I want to know how, for I find that much more interesting."

"So you seek the inner workings of the universe, the story of breathing itself."

"No, not quite," said the prince, "For that is a mechanics. You can tell me that the ball rolls because I pushed it, and that is the answer to why. You can tell me that it rolls because of its shape, and that is the physics of it. I just want to know how it rolls, or, in the case of the horse, how it lives. For a horse does not live simply because it has lungs and a heart and a brain. Those are its mechanics. And though God may have created it, it does not live in God alone for it would then become God, and the reason for its being a horse would disappear. One of the elements of the horse is that it is not God. So what, beyond its mechanics and its creator, makes it live? As a horse? Every day?" He looked down into the valley below. "And this entire land, that we can see so widely from here. How does it live? "

The wizard tree flicked the smallest ends of its smallest leaves in the wind. For a long time the prince just looked at his baby-clean palms.

"Did you come a long way to get here?" said the wizard tree, suddenly sounding much less wizardly, even a bit tired .

"Yes, I did," said the prince.

All the shadow leaves sighed down a bit on the breeze and some even fell, though of course when a shadow falls we never know where it goes. "Well, that is most unfortunate, prince," said the tree.

"How so?" asked the prince.

"Because I am a shadow of tree, and a shadow of a voice. I know many things, but I do not live. You have asked me the only question that I cannot answer. You, in fact, are the one answering it."

"But I'm not, tree. I don't know the answer. I ask you because I don't know. I am told that I am the ruler of this land, but I don't understand it. How can I rule over what I don't understand?" He looked up from the tree to the sky. Just then the sun made its disappearance under the trees, and the moon was not yet up: that one moment when neither sun with its fire-sword nor moon with its heartbreak knife can carve shadows out from reality. He sighed. He looked down again.

At that one moment when neither sun nor moon can carve shadows out from reality, in this story that is so true to so few, he looked down--and had no shadow. The wizard tree was gone. The rocks projected their grayness into the graying sky. And everywhere he looked, he saw doubt: that secret thing worse than shame and worse than knowledge in casting us down upon our own earth.

The prince walked down the opposite side of the mountain from whence he came, and every one of his steps was an answer, in a language he could never understand.

posted by Adam at 10:31 PM [edit]

The wizard tree
not part two, but a strange little pause in the middle

The mountains are galloping out into the plains.
Why do they want to be like animals, when they are
so much older, quieter, kinder?

The sea is not reflecting the sun so much as punting it back
into the sky. Why does it want to be a ball player,
when it is so much deeper, darker, undrinkable?

How does it live?

The wind tickles like hair passing over a belly
that has snuck out beneath its shirt.
Why does it want to be like lovers, when it is so
satisfied with nothing, so necessary, so immune to loss?

The trees are holding it inside
their branches as long as they can.
Why do they want to be like children,
when they are so much firmer,
more trustworthy, believable?

How do they live?
posted by Adam at 12:51 AM [edit]

Triste, en los ojos

See a scary movie and think about what you've lost:
it's all in word balloons spread out before you. Here's
where I said "I'm tired"; here's where I said, "Lay here long."
Triste en los ojos. When the moths come out at night,
don't pretend to know anything about them, except that
their night is long and their search never ends,
as yours could have, had my hands been given the chance.
Don't think about what you've lost. Collect the cards
of other people you might call. Don't wear a dress for them too.
One time I was in another country. You were kind enough
to call. One time I was in Atlantis. You stood with a fishing
rod and called called called. One time I was at your doorstep.
I stood there a long time, triste en los ojos. I stood until my feet
hurt and then I left. Don't think about what you've lost.
posted by Adam at 12:40 AM [edit]

Vow

When you were little we were always forgetting you in the back seat.
Now you're older, trying to find ways to explain the natural world
better than the people around you, better than me: It is green.
Rain is wet. I wish you'd learn to see the thing beneath the thing.

Oh, and also, I left the door open in case you weren't coming back.
Just to catch a little wind. It's almost time to kill magic again.
Like you used to when I'd walk into the room dressed up for no occasion.
All scared to ever die and wanting not to take you with me.

This is the beautiful summer that only we have ever known. This is tragic:
the only person on Earth who hasn't seen the rain is the one who makes it.
Try explaining that one in a shitty little notebook. Oh, and also: I'm not
angry. The moon is telling you lies. I'm not angry, I'm not angry.
posted by Adam at 6:42 PM [edit]