Kratka zgodba o identiteti in skritih resnicah pozabljene zgodovine.
I would try to step away from the tree, stand up and move into the forest. To escape. But as I would try to stand up, I would notice that my feet were now burried in the dirt and the tree’s roots now locking me in place. I could feel the humidity of the soil. But none of this scared me. No, it felt good. Like I was part of something bigger now. Like the self was no longer important, and all I felt was relief. So I closed my eyes again.
And then I felt it. The heartbeat of the oak. A slow but constant rhythm of moist soil being pushed and pulled. Time slowed down and my limbs feeling the warmth of the earth as the tree connected with me from within, entangling its roots with my veins and nerves.
It was like a thousand lines worming their way into my body, a tingling sensation. My entire flesh, while still remaining perfectly human from without, was solidifying from within. My veins, my organs, everything changed, becoming ligneous and stiff. Like turning the glove inside out, everything remained similar, but its opposite. I felt the sensation spreading from feet, to shins, to buttocks, spreading my arms, and finally filling my entire chest with a wooden stillness, my breath stopping in mid-point. An inhale of oxygen left redundant, as I felt my body filling with a different kind of breath. Motionless, yet vibrant with life. And much, much slower and unending. The breath of a tree.
When the tranformation was complete, with my mouth and eyes and ears, all captured in time, motionless, when my entire body was transformed into an extension of the tree, my eyes closed and turned within, there was a jolt, like an old mountain suddenly gasping.