O mother, please help me, for I keep changing!

The irrationality continues. Nature always amazes me. The kind of ideas that she gets are thoughtful yet so complex. Not that thoughtful ideas are not complex. But I see the idea of being thoughtful to be rational and because it is rational, it is simple. At least that is what I have observed in people. All rational people tend to be simple. Their idea of life is simple. It is to lead a happy life. Being thoughtful is part of this simple existence. If one is thinking something, before doing, something he wants whatever he is doing to be successful. He wants it to be successful because that is the way that he expects it to go. What happens if things do not go the way that he expected them to go? He will be unhappy and he cannot fathom the thought of being unhappy. So, thoughtful ideas according to me are generally quite simple as far as the equation of life is concerned.

But nature seems to be different. Her ideas are so thoughtful yet so complex. She wants me to change. So, I have. Now all that I see is other ants crawl around me communicating with each other, collecting food, storing it and consuming it. The cycle repeats all over again. We crawl on leaves, on the ground, onto rocks and boulders, around them, over them, all the way telling each other what to look for and where to look for it. While I crawl, I leave behind a trail for my brothers to follow and they leave behind a trail for me to follow. All of us follow that single trail and no one ever questions, why? Sometimes I get the feeling that I should raise my voice and stray away from the trail. But then, some other work comes in the way of my thought and I don’t.
We also crawl on branches of trees. Trees that have been there from the past thousand years. The smell of their wet branches on a summer’s morning is so delightful. The bark of the tree is slippery, with green moss that formed at that spot when there were those great showers. The moss is as green as the dark grass that grows in the marshes. We skate around those slippery slopes making our way through to the final source of food. I enjoy these little adventures. We do it as a group to practice brotherhood. What happens on a tree, stays on a tree. When I climb up to the highest branches of any of these trees, I see the whole forest below me. Some of these trees look like wailing ladies waiting for their mate to return from the heavens, while others look like old men that are just waiting to be taken to the heavens. Some trees sing for us making gorgeous, windy noises while we do some hard day’s work. Wish I could be one of them. Wish I could know, how it feels like to live forever.

Hour by Hour, I am becoming old. There isn’t much left to see. My life in these dark, dense and peaceful marshes might soon end. As I was thinking about all this and tearing a small piece of food from the dead tarantula spider, with my sharp teeth, I see an angel above me. I am slowly losing my consciousness. I am becoming shaky. I have dropped dead. Now, I exist only as a vibration.

I feel like I am inside the ground right now. I am trying to locate my way. I look above me and there are all these smaller plants that have been sprouting up. Now, I have come up too. I rise my head out of the ground, only to be met by the glowing sunlight that hit me right in the face. I am green. I have leaves on my body. My leaves are cooking some delicious nutrients for me to survive by adding just a hint of that chlorophyll to make the food taste lip smacking. Sunlight is helping me cook food, grow and just become stronger day by day.

After six hundred years, here I am. Big, strong and as large as any other banyan tree in this beautiful tropical forest. Many different creatures have made me their home, while some are in a relationship with me and depend on me for food, while protecting my most precious newly born shoot from being consumed by predators.

Those small, tiny ants that dwell inside my trunk are one of those little fellas that help me get through with my day, although I do not feel the difference between day and night anymore. Many a time, I speak with time. One jolly good fellow he is. He likes to keep on running. Although he talks to me, he still keeps running. He says day and night depend on him too. I asked him to introduce that couple to me. But he keeps saying that he does not have the time as he has to keep running.

So, I decided to meet them myself. I sang a song using my old friend the wind and miss night instantly became a fan. She told me that she and mister day are a couple so immensely involved in each other’s love that they don’t even feel the need to see each other. She also says that by staying that way they complement each other’s hard work. I love them both. I love how they so affectionately help maintain stability, another funny man he is. I could not stop laughing when he told me how the universe would collapse into itself, if only he stopped performing his duties.
All that aside, I feel a special connection to those ants. Maybe I knew them, when I was young. Maybe I am what I am today because of their protection. Is that the thought that pulls them to me?

Now, I remember! I was one of them!

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