The Question of the Tree I messed up... I ate the fruit... Then I asked the tree... "Which part of me was meant to be?" Was it the hunger? Was it the fear? Was it the voice that whispered in my ear? Was it the fall? Was it the flame? Was it the burden of knowing my name? The tree stood silent, roots beneath the ground... Holding every secret that the ages had found. Then the branches moved like a thousand prayers... And the leaves replied: "Child, you were never the error. You were never the stain. The fruit was the question. The choice was the flame. You ate to discover. You broke to repair. You searched for the truth because you knew it was there. The part of you meant to be... Was the part that could see. The part that could fall... And still choose to be free." So I thanked the tree for the lesson it gave... For the wisdom found in the mistakes we made. Because maybe the garden was never about staying... Maybe it was about growing... And learning the way.
