The Two Trees

In the beginning, the man knew nothing of lack.

The garden gave before he knew to ask.

Water moved through the ground.

Fruit hung from the branches.

Light came.

Darkness came.

And neither required anything from him.

He ate when he was hungry.

He rested when he was tired.

He reached for the woman, and she reached for him.

There was nothing to prove.

Nothing to earn.

Nothing to become.

Life was already there.

And in the middle of the garden stood the Tree of Life.

Its work was quiet.

It did not explain itself.

It received.

It gave.

It received again.

And life moved outward from it.

The man did not ask whether there would be enough tomorrow.

Tomorrow had not yet become a problem.

He did not ask whether another man had more.

There was no other life against which to measure his own.

He did not ask what he was worth.

He was alive.

That was enough.

But there was another tree.

The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

And the serpent said,

Your eyes will be opened.

You will know.

The man looked at the fruit.

And for the first time, knowing seemed better than receiving.

So he reached.

He ate.

And his eyes were opened.

He saw more than he had seen before.

He saw difference.

He saw comparison.

He saw what was his and what was not.

He saw what he wanted.

He saw what he feared losing.

He saw himself as another person might see him.

And he was naked.

So he covered himself.

Then he heard a sound in the garden.

Before, he would have moved toward it.

Now he calculated.

What will happen?

What will be asked?

What will this cost me?

He hid.

The garden had not changed.

The trees were still there.

The water still moved.

The light still fell through the leaves.

But the man no longer lived in the same world.

Now everything had to be named.

Measured.

Compared.

Judged.

Good.

Bad.

Safe.

Dangerous.

Mine.

Yours.

Enough.

Not enough.

The Tree of Knowledge grew quickly.

It learned what brought pleasure.

It remembered what caused pain.

It learned which faces were safe.

Which voices carried danger.

It learned how to predict.

How to protect.

How to store.

How to build.

How to win.

It learned language.

Numbers.

Property.

Status.

It learned to look into another man's field and decide whether his own field was sufficient.

It learned to look into another woman's face and wonder what she thought of him.

It learned to imagine tomorrow and fear what might happen there.

It became very good at surviving outside the garden.

And the better it became,

the harder it was to hear the other tree.

Still, the Tree of Life continued.

Quietly.

It did not argue with the Tree of Knowledge.

It did not compete for attention.

It simply gave.

Again.

And again.

And again.

While the mind worried about tomorrow,

it gave life now.

While the mind measured worth,

it gave without measuring.

While the mind decided which parts of the world were deserving,

it sent life everywhere it was needed.

To the hand.

To the foot.

To the brain itself.

It did not ask whether they had earned it.

It did not withhold because they had failed.

It simply kept the body alive.

The man grew older.

The Tree of Knowledge became louder.

It filled his days with questions.

What do I need?

What am I missing?

What do they have?

What do they think?

What happens if I lose this?

What must I become before I can finally rest?

He searched the world for answers.

He collected things.

Ideas.

Achievements.

Opinions.

Beliefs.

He built an entire life from what he could see.

And still the other tree remained.

Beneath everything.

Giving.

Receiving.

Giving.

Receiving.

The Tree of Knowledge had taught him how to live in the world outside him.

But somewhere along the way,

he had allowed it to tell him where life came from.

And that was the mistake.

The Tree of Knowledge had never been the source.

It had only learned to describe what surrounded him.

Long before he had words,

long before he knew what anything was worth,

long before he could compare himself with anyone,

life had already been moving within him.

One tree grew behind his eyes.

The other beat beneath his ribs.

The mind had learned the world.

The heart had carried life.

And the man had spent most of his years searching outside himself

for what the Tree of Life had never stopped giving.