the B{enz}LOG

Fable

In our mere existence in this world, our beings is subject to that one most common and simple idea - change.

Early in our wonder years, the time when we usually believe in the Bogeyman and the Sandman, there lived in us a world full of make believe. A world where we let our imaginations run free and where we can just simply be a child. It is a world of gallant characters woven up by our mere genius, foolish and brilliant minds. It is a world that I’m sure that I’ll never forget having met Mickey and his many varied friends across the gamut of animated fantasies there.

Then, like a loose-tracked speed train, change entered. All that I believed in burst like a huge bubble. All those that I’ve relied on suffered by the circumstance of my age. It pained me most knowing that I could only do so much but to remain hopeful and preserve whatever was left. These were the frustrations I took with me as I saw the world in a whole new perspective. A world of responsibility and commitment; a world I still don’t understand.

However, luckily, one true thing stayed with me. One thing that never slipped away through time; one thing that didn’t ebb away into the waves of unrealized memories; one thing that didn’t drown into the chasms of forgotten aspirations and lost into the doldrums of nothingness. One thing that, hitherto, I still hold in my hands and in my heart.

The one dream where I became a moth.

Perhaps, once upon a dream, there was a moth but this particular moth was unlike any other. He was different for one sure thing: he was the first, perhaps the only, of his kind to actually be amazed by the luminous pulchritude of the celestial beings of night. He admired and sang fervent adulation towards his precious, the stars. He knew it would mean nothing if he settled for less; he didn’t want to settle, at least, not for the imitative grace of the street lamps.

For a long time, many thought he was foolish. Some even went to as far as making him out to be a radical with nothing but pure imagination in his noggin’. To many, he was stupid. To few, he was a brilliant fool - brilliant but a fool nonetheless. Still, he didn’t waver. He dreamt and when he dreamt, he dreamt big; he dreamt wide; he dreamt tall; he dreamt of dreams limited by immeasurable dimensions.

Driven by the passion of his dreams to reach the stars he said to his friend, “A time will come when I’ll be hovering amongst those beauties. One way or another, I will reach them on that most beautiful night.”

He was sure of it. He was going to make it happen even with what meager faith was placed unto him by the heavens.

“That time will never come. Those stars are too far and too high. There’s no way that you could get there. You’d only end up trying.”, replied his friend jocularly.

“Who knows? But the sure thing is, I will make it. I know I will. Wait. I mean, I can. Yes, I can. It’s not entirely impossible albeit no one has dared.”, he replied with determination in his tone. “I’ll start tomorrow. I’ll go early so by nighttime, I’m already there. When I come back, you can sulk at the corner while everyone beholds my awesomeness!”, he exclaimed.

“Yeah, whatever! When you’ve returned, I’ll be just by the street lamps with the lot. Will be catching that bright fussy little thing inside and you’ll be so sorry you didn’t see it. I’m tellin’ you no one’ll be hoggin’ that thing other than me”, his friend replied jeeringly.

And so morning came, the little moth wasted not even a second and went off into the skies. He flapped his wings relentlessly and got his vision fixed onto his goal. His spirit was lit by the fire of ecstasy and wonder, his entire being burned with excitement and fulfillment with the start of a beautiful beginning to an awesome journey. He felt invincible and proud. He was awesome.

The sun shone brightly that day. Its intense rays were showering him with a halo glow that he thought if any of his lot looked up, he would be as clear as the sky. He felt beautiful and he enjoyed every moment of it. 

The wind made him a little apprehensive though. Once in his young moth days, he was told not to spiral higher than the tree of hesitation. Yes, there was indeed a tree and it was Sycamore. It was known to hamper any idea of even furthering flight higher than the tree’s altitude unless you were an avian with strong and far expansive wings than any other creatures of flight. If you were, the tree would pose no qualms as to your capacity to soar; if you were otherwise, the Sycamore would not allow for you to pursue more than its imposing form.

For years, that made the moth envious of his bigger-winged neighbors. He did not really envy them. Actually, he was more revolted of the idea of these gargantuan creatures. He has always thought how can those magnificent beings even dare prey about the little ones. He has heard of gruesome and repulsive beheadings and massacres many times over. Still, at that very moment, he felt his little antennae tingle with dread every time these stories stirred up in his mind.

The moth went on his merry way. As time went by, something was becoming quite clear to him - his journey was indeed a challenge. It was arduous as it is yet he kept on. Every second, the sky was getting dimmer and dimmer and every moment, the stars’ astounding magnitude more evident.

“There they are!”he exclaimed with wild excitement as the stars have finally become crystal clear.

At that very moment, he started to flap his wings more enthusiastically and more rapidly. But, things were going nowhere. No matter how fast he went, he saw that he’s not getting any closer than he is farther away from where he used to be. Moments passed when an idea seeped into his little brain. Was it an exercise in futility? He started to doubt his own spirit and capability. He was not getting any closer yet when he looked down he was higher than in any moment of his flying escapades before.

He felt stretched way too thin by the searing fatigue that he was starting to feel. His wings have never worked this much before, the air was never this thin, and the winds that strong as far as he can recall. However, whenever he gazed up, he always dared himself to remember about what it actually meant to be up there. And every time that happened, his determination returned and his demeanor better. However, his body was already barely dragging along despite his spirit trying to compensate for it.

Eventually, he grew extremely tired but he didn’t stop. He kept on no matter how pointless things already seemed to him. He no longer knew why he was doing it but he knew it was better than staying under for all the time his short life had. 

Minutes turned to hours and a thousand glimpses passed by, the moth was getting older. He was getting really tired. His wings were already protesting him but he went on. No sooner a strong gust of wind threw him off course. He fought with the sweeping turbulence. He tried his all to sturdy up his wings. He continued to battle with the staggering force while being swept into a vacuum. When he fought his hardest, something snapped. At that very disturbing equivocation, he lost it. He can no longer feel his appendages and more so, his wings. He knew at that very moment that he has fallen.

He fell back fast.

He fell back fast and steady.

He fell fast, steady and easy.

Failing was that easy.

His body gave up and all that he had was gone. He could sense that he was falling and falling and falling. Hurtling towards gravity, towards earth, towards despair.

He fell with a thud. Despite the pain, one thing strayed into his consciousness - the fall was fast. He swore he flew higher and the altitude he took would have allowed him more time to stay in the air. He wished he had more time to see the skies before he lay flat and sank to the earth.

Reeling from the pain from not being able to do what was required and not of the fall, he dared one more time to look at where he sunk. He realized this little platform was not earth nor rock nor hardened human-made, lead-colored clay that played tracks to their weird-looking riding animals or whatever those were.

Even in the dark, he saw that it was green and far from what he’s known about the world below. As he continually pondered as to where he was, he saw foliage after foliage, slowly dancing to the zephyr of the night, emerging from trunks of what seemed like the branches of a Sycamore tree. He looked intently still at his surroundings, he finally realized his location. He was lying on a leaf of the gigantic tree that once held his fancy. It was that one tree taller than any other tree they’ve been to. It was that specific tree that not one of his lot dared go and surmount. It was the ‘tree of hesitation’.

“You are beautiful my precious stars but my touch on you would come but naught. Perhaps, I’ll see you in a while,” he said with great effort.

Then, there he lay in sweet surrender. He can see the light before him. He was lifted up from where he was. He was appeased. All feeling had gone. Nevertheless, he felt joy in great abandon. He was hovering slowly up to where they are - up where dreams live in perpetuity.

This tale has always been with me. It remained unchanged in my mind and memories throughout my years. It will always be a treasure cherished by so much of a dreamer as myself.

Failures and risks are a part of life. However, joy lies ahead of it. It is waiting to be taken and be shared with those that revel in its gift.

Every existence is but a journey. It is not always how you thought it would turn out to be. Surprises lurk in every way possible. Understand that they are neither good nor bad; it is a matter of choice and how you make them out to be. All these, I can’t and won’t ever change. Like them, is the memory of my mornings - my own fable.