All in the Proper Context

I was unsatisfied. I was stressed. I looked at sin– gave it a careful analysis. Then willfully, I plunged in– to fulfill carnal delights.

There was something mysterious and lifelike about the form I was pining for.

Call it a picture if you shall. I saw before me a projection of reality and it brought me great pleasure to gaze upon. It was the picture of this rare, exquisite tropical flower– an object that would hopefully bring meaning to the room called life. Somehow, I thought it would be my living, breathing companion.

Outside on the terrace, stood a man carrying a very small seed. He told me it brought him great fulfillment. I was puzzled! What delights I had at my fingertips! I had the necessary means to cover my entire room with these glorious paintings or perhaps even cover my room in a one-of-a-kind mural. But this foolish man held up a single seed and exclaimed that it was worth every penny of his entire inheritance.

If that weren’t enough, I saw this man spend countless hours tending the garden where the seed was planted. I didn’t see anything happening, but he exclaimed all the more of the beauty and wonder of the tiny, putrid seed.

Meanwhile, here in my room I sit. I’m fidgety. I’m bothered. So what if the foolish man claimed that I could sell all my paintings and have eough money to buy my own seed! I have every painting I need right here. So I sat and moped. And moped again. Every time I was about to cry, I decided it was time to spend!

I bought pictures of every rare plant in town. I dreamed that meaning was just beyond the horizon– in the next sparkling glistening picture.

But even old stinky Rich myself had a limit. I spent every red cent in the house.

I fell down to the ground. Precious invaluable art fell along with me.

I was enraged and kicked those paintings. They wouldn’t move.

They had me trapped even though they were now hated.

For what status would I be in without them? (I asked myself.)

In the door, to my alarm, walked in the haggard man with radiance unimaginable. He still offered me the deal to buy a seed. I looked at him puzzled– then with bitter hate!

I spat on him and shooed him away. I threw my pictures in his face that I knew he despised.

Day after day he came– knocking away. He had a force– a motivation about him that would not be stopped. It really irked me. It cut to the bone– how he claimed of this seed growing into much more. It sounded ridiculous– much like folklore. For some reason I cried and cried. He continued on end.

I retreated to my room that night sensing that this stranger cared. His ways were foreign to me, but I had to consider them. What else was there to do? My home was an exquisite art gallery in shambles. I was a man with nothing but yesterday’s paintings to hold onto. So hold on I did and did– until even those very paintings began to deteriorate in the climate.

Little did I know that the stranger was dying. He had planned one of his last visits. (Like I really cared!)

In it, he would’ve, for the final time, explained the power of the seed– how the seed had taken root and blossomed into a mature tree– not an image of reality, but reality itself. And this tree he could climb, eat of for nourishment, and even gather seeds from to share!

No ordinary tree– this tree could give its owner the desires of his/her heart at the proper time– as long as the owner forfeited everything he/she had to purchase the seed and kept it nourished. As terms of the deal, this tree would never die and its blessings would never stop flowing. The stranger I knew was quite sure of all this and that his status wouldn’t change as he passed away.

The same couldn’t be said for me at the time. I remained in the stale air of my despicable room still fixated on the tiny bit of pleasures my paintings gave me. (They got very boring.) My anger built up and I just decided to spite the owner of the seeds. No, He could not have my pictures or anything I owned in MY room. With a malicious, cute, mischevious smile on my face, I pulled out a match to set fire to the place. My intention was to experience those pleasures like never before. I could gaze on those pictures in motion now– even closer to the reality of life.

What I did not anticipate was the left over charred pictures or that I would die in the process. My time was up and I had nothing to show for it– nothing to my name but potential– now wasted. Without a deposit, without a deal, I would suffer while that haggard stranger lived among the trees.