Stories Told Through Symbols 🌿

I am at sea. The boat rocks in the storm, swaying from side to side as waves crash over the deck. I am a small child, barely grown, feeling fear as I cling tightly to the railing to avoid being swept away. I am soaked with salty water. When I look around, I see a man holding the helm, calling out to me to hand him a rope so he can tie himself to it. The rope lies coiled in the middle of the deck. Even though the boat tilts, the rope doesn’t budge, as if glued to the deck. But I don’t want to go for it because I know a wave would sweep me away, just as it did everyone before me. It’s not about courage—I know it will happen every time. I know I won’t go for the rope because it’s pointless.

The sky is black. A mist hovers over the sea, and from it emerges a figure cloaked in black with a hood. When the figure raises its head, it’s death. My heart tightens at how real it is. I feel fear. It stands on a pier above the sea, holding a staff. Below it, empty boats float gently on the small waves.

Suddenly, I am standing on the pier beside it. I am so close I could touch it. So close that, all at once, I feel no fear. I step into it, and we become one. Beneath me, boats full of people call out to me, clasping their hands together. The boats set out into the open sea, and I spread black wings like an angel of death. All those people sail into the storm, and I know it’s the end. I feel nothing. I am eternal, unchanging.

The boats are now filled with grass and flowers. Some have cracked, and geysers of water spray through the planks. I leap from one boat to another and feel joy. There is always something to discover. Nothing is permanent or static. I realize how important movement is. Suddenly, the boats are full of people again. On their heads is soil, and from some of it, grass begins to sprout. I see seeds, from which shoots grow before my eyes, unfolding into blossoms of all colors.

I feel the importance of returning to nature, to roots, to a primal essence. All the layers fall away, leaving only pure substance. We need to do more of what refreshes us and less of what overwhelms us. Even though some tasks are necessary, we shouldn’t let them consume us, because true life lies elsewhere.

We all have such seeds within us—potential, abilities. Our responsibility is to nurture the seed so it takes root and grows. And our only responsibility to others is not to trample or destroy their seeds. Society must not destroy them.

Empty boats—I fear them because I see emptiness in the lives around me. Even though things are constantly happening, something essential is missing. It hurts me that people don’t see that part of themselves is absent. I’m afraid I won’t finish what I’m meant to. And it’s not my writing, my paintings, or my work. It’s the very essence of existence that I fear I won’t fulfill.

Death—Everything ends, but every ending brings a new beginning. Death can be a friend. I feel we are one. Only now do I realize I saw it as a ferryman. But I saw only one stage—the end of life. Or is our entire life such a transition?

Death sits down on the pier. It’s no longer terrifying. It wears a green cloak. I sit beside it and embrace it. Suddenly, I am a small child being comforted in its arms, and in the next moment, I am sitting in one of the boats. I know a storm lies ahead, but it no longer fills me with fear. Inside, I finally feel peace.

Thank you for visiting, and I look forward to sharing the next story with you.🍀

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