“Hello, child. It is nice to see you again after all these years.”
The small girl recoiled, not expecting the plant to talk.
“What are you, I have not met anything like you before.”
“You don’t recognize your own grandfather? You young people and your memories, as fleeting as a noontime shadow.”
“My grandfather has been dead for many years now, are you saying you are him?”
At that moment a minute figure emerged from the plants. It resembled a small statue, a sign of gratitude from their people.
“I have become part of the mountains I call home, as one day I hope you will be as well.”
“What do you mean, grandfather? I thought souls went to the afterlife?”
“Not all of us do, some of us stay in the earthworld to be caretakers of the natural order. We care for the trees and the mountains, and of you as well.”
“I am sorry, grandfather, I don’t understand.”
“You were about to pick this flower, were you not?”
“Yes, grandfather.”
“Without permission?”
“Permission from who?”
“The mountains, of course.”
“Flowers are there for picking, I only wanted to put it in my hair.”
“You have a lot to learn, child.”
“I am willing to listen, grandfather.”
“Take this flower, the one you wanted to pick. Did you know why it blooms? When it bursts through to see the sun the birds and insects frolic to it to pass its pollen on. But what about you? What would you do with the flower? Appreciate its fleeting beauty? And what then, child? Will you toss it away, waiting for another flower to bloom?”
The girl bowed her head. “I just thought it would look pretty in my ear.”
“And it does, or rather it will.”
“So you would let me pick the flower?”
“As long as you ask for permission.”
“From you?”
“From the spirits of the mountain, yes.”
“But what will that change? The flower will be picked either way, permission or not.”
“Ahh, forgot what it was to be human. So unwilling to realize they are also part of the natural order.”
“Grandfather?”
“Humans are as much a part of nature as the animals and trees. There are spirits that govern all, and asking them ill let the forest know that you will not abandon them. So they know you are wiliing to defend it from those that would do them harm. It is not a mere notice of permission, but a sacred pact. Each time you speak to the spirits you become a part of something greater.”
“I never knew, grandfather.”
“Now you do.” The spirit smiled, a warm wave casting over the child.
“Now would you like to pick that flower?”
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Story inspired by an interview with Rosie Sula, a Tboli Elder
Le Meem Bulul Illustration by Jambbanya
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