Stories Told Through Symbols 🌿

I’m standing on a path lined with linden trees.

Sunlight filters through their crowns and the air carries the scent of freshly cut grass — a scent I know well.
(It’s soothed me since childhood. It reminds me that everything is alright. Maybe that’s why it always appears at the beginning of my meditations — and I just think: okay, breathe.)

And then I see them.

Figures approaching from afar — and they’re definitely not casual walkers out on a health stroll.

They’re enormous. At least ten meters tall, maybe more, and almost transparent.

Their faces hold a calmness and nobility that make the rest of us look like chaotic beings who occasionally try to appear dignified… but rarely succeed.

They walk quietly, slowly, with great deliberation.
And… they ignore me completely.

I call out to them.
I wave. I hop around.
Nothing.

I feel like that tiny alien from Moby’s In This World, desperately trying to get noticed
— while the world has absolutely zero interest in responding.

Eventually I give up and sit down in the grass, resigned.
And then — one of the figures stops.

I run toward it. I’m hopping again and waving my arms, which is embarrassing, and embarrassment in my meditations has absolutely no mercy. I’ve gotten used to behaving strangely, absurdly, and completely openly. So I let it be.

And the figure watches me, leans down… and lifts me onto its shoulder.

Wow.

Suddenly I see everything from above.
High up, safe, with a kind of perspective I’ve never known before.
I laugh — and the translucent man laughs with me. It’s the kind of laughter that wakes you up from the inside.

We head back to the others, who are descending into a valley.
And only now does everyone see me.
They also see how much the man carrying me has changed — he’s more open, more alive, almost human.

I even start to wonder… maybe he really is human. Or at least something very close to it.

They build a fire.
But only “my” one sits by it — the others disappear into the dark.

We sit together and talk about life, about death, about things so vast that human language sometimes circles around them helplessly.
Some stories make us laugh.
Others bring tears to our eyes.

And I feel something awakening inside me — sensitivity, compassion, a sense of connection with all living things around us.
As if I had grown… and at the same time become even more attuned to what lies beneath me, until the man finally places me back on the ground.

Then more “almost-people” arrive.

And each of them has someone like me on their shoulders — little human beings learning to see the world from above.

Night has fallen.
All of us, small and tall, sit around the fire.
The firelight glitters across the translucent bodies of the “almost-people,” and a current of energy flows through us so powerfully that I swear — if we wanted to, we could move a mountain.

And maybe… maybe we actually could.
And maybe we’re capable of changing the entire world.