I know who is my mother, I know who is my father, I know where I was born.
But of the seed which gave substance to a soul, I know almost nothing of what really fed it, nor in which breeding ground the roots buried themselves.
Did I exhaust those who fed me, did I feed on what was given to me, did I feed those I gave birth?
A tree - the real one - feeds what feeds him.
Every autumn, he offers his leaves to mother earth, which gets healthier to serve him better. He offers to his roots the shadow, which will refresh a wet ground to water them better. The perfect cycle. And, in addition to this, he regenerates the air which surrounds him, offers a lodge to those who settle on his branches, and... and... and... he does not stop growing up, giving, again and again.
He knows where are his roots. He knows what he gives.
And I? Did I know how to anchor my roots in the nourishing earth of my ancestors? Did I know how to strengthen of what I absorbed? Did I know how to grow up?
Did I find the ability to give?
In the daily race which many of us make every day, there is a sort of unconscious efficiency to be enough moving, just to prevent our root going deeply into mother earth. As if peace and staying in place threatened to endanger ourselves.
Then we walk, we run, sometimes we run away. To the point that we forget where from we come, what we are.
To the point that we forget what we feed on.
To the point that we forget to give.
Please feel free to react and answer. I would be happy to answer and debate.
