The mango tree is finally healing after its radical pruning nearly a year ago.
But I wonder about the root system. How far does it reach beyond the canopy that remains? What is going on under there?
Above ground, I can see where the cuts were made. I can witness new growth. Underneath, I have no idea what has been affected, what has withered, what is still reaching out to sustain the canopy that is now absent.
We are so enamored of picking and harvesting what we can see. The ripest fruit we have been taught to desire from the beginning of time.
Now. Now. Now. The giant maw of yearning that can never be quenched.
Pluck what is visible, tantalizing, the object of desire.
How much of another life disappears in the taking?
The best and the brightest, almost born wearing crowns. Even so, a woman has less agency in a crowd of kings.
The ground collapses, the fish all die, the woman is left with a lifetime of scars.
But full speed ahead, and damn the consequences. They are not part of the curriculum.
Drill baby, drill.
We keep insisting on extracting beyond the capacity of the entire system, ignoring what we choose not to see. Those structures that nourish and sustain. The inner processes of the plant. The inner life of the human. All that goes on beneath the surface while we carelessly snatch at what we want.
This morning I am looking at the mango tree.
Nearly a year, and I am calling it healed
because of what is evident.
I have no expectation of fruit.