The Story of the Trees

Poppy Simon's fifteen minutes of fame came when she was thirty-eight. It came precisely twelve weeks after she signed her divorce and resignation papers at her Christopher Columbus High School work office on a Friday afternoon. A few minutes after signing, she took the envelopes and walked 25 steps into the principal's office, sprang open his door while ignoring a mildly protesting secretary, left both of the envelopes on his desk while he was on the phone, gave him the middle finger, turned around, and left. He tried to say something, but she couldn't hear it if he did. It was not like she cared about what that cheater thought. Poppy was the school nurse, and the principal was her now ex-husband.

Those fifteen minutes came at the perfect time for her. Although she wished the fame had come earlier and lasted longer, she was still grateful for it. The day after she signed her divorce papers, Poppy packed her suitcase and passport and took a taxi to the airport. She booked a first-class ticket to the first international flight on her ex-husband's credit card. Knowing him, he would have forgotten to cancel it. Once she knew where she was going, she booked a five-star hotel on the same card for three weeks. After a seven-hour flight, sleeping in first class, she arrived in Cusco, Peru, fully refreshed and ready to take on this new journey she had embarked on. Poppy was awestruck by Peru almost immediately. She couldn't believe all the natural beauty that existed around every corner. She was entranced by the insanely turquoise water of Lake Humanatay and spent hours sitting in silence, staring at the water under the menacing watch of the snowcapped mountains. The early morning fog that covered the turquoise and green still water almost washed away all of her past and fears, and for a moment, tears filled her eyes anew. This time, her tears were of joy and gratitude.

Poppy was not a hiker and was unaware of all the hiking she was embarking on day after day. Still, she was astonished at her newfound energy walking the historic cobblestone streets of the ancient Incas. Every step she took, out of the endless steps, to climb to the church of San Cristobal knocked the wind out of her but gave her a sense of purpose. When she finally took that last step on the narrow Calle Resbalosa and saw the church before her, she turned around to watch over the crimson roofs of the sacred city and smiled. She didn't even bother going to the church. She was there for the view. Little did she know that this climb would change her whole life.

On her climb down, she stumbled on a rock and almost fell, but a young Peruvian girl grabbed her right before she fell. As she looked up, she saw a street sign, "Concepción." The Peruvian girl smiled at her and asked if she was okay, and Poppy nodded and thanked her in the little Spanish she knew. She kept looking at the street sign for a few seconds and wondered if it was a coincidence. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the most beautiful magenta flower she had ever seen. She immediately walked toward it and saw a sign that said "Coca leaf reading" in bold letters, and under it, the words "Wachuma" and "Ayahuasca." She read all about the Ayahuasca plant, the drink, and the retreats a while ago, but standing now in front of the sign was very real. As she stood there, a young man came and offered to help. She shook her head, but her curiosity kept her from moving. For the next 30 minutes, the young man gave her a tour of the little "museo" of plants and all the organic products they sell. By the end of this quick tour, she had already signed up for an "Ayahuasca retreat" in seven days when the Shaman returns so she could also get ready. She was on her way to be healed.

For the next few days, anxiety met excitement on the dance floor of her mind, and she performed a flowing foxtrot that went on for hours. She tried to meditate and do yoga as much as possible to calm herself, but that did not stop the dancing. Since the idea of hiking Rainbow Mountain was too tiring even to consider, she decided to visit the Sacred Valley instead. Her favorite spot was the circular terraces of Moray, which took her breath away as soon as she saw them. The guide mentioned that the terraces were used for agriculture, but her brain disagreed. This was too symmetrical and ornate for just growing potatoes. She enjoyed the circular walk and was surprised that the temperature seemed to rise as she went lower. All she kept thinking about was Mrs. Weiss' Physics class and her explanation of heat transfer. Convection, radiation, and... and what was the third one? Combustion?It seemed that the lack of meat, which was the recommendation for the ceremony, was affecting her brain process.

The day before the ceremony, she stayed in her hotel room at the Hilton Garden Inn, ordered room service, and booked a spa appointment. She wanted to be as relaxed as possible. In the evening, she walked to the decorative Plaza de Armas and sat on one of the benches to people-watch. The city center was bustling with activity and tourists from all corners. Children were running around, lovers were holding on to each other, sellers were trying their best to get tourists to go on one of their tours, and older women were selling different shapes and colors of the famous Peruvian hats and ponchos. Poppy wondered what the Incas would think if they saw their treasured capital today. She didn't know this, but she had a considerable smile. She felt very grateful to be where she is. Unfortunately, A loud car horn broke her train of thought, and the loud music from Paddy's Irish pub made her get up and walk back to her hotel. She needed the rest anyway.

The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Poppy walked into the ceremony room, where she was met with several mats on the ground, large black buckets, a roll of toilet paper, and two bottles of water. At the far side of the room was a clear area with a big chair covered in fur and other decorations, but she couldn't decipher what they were. She guessed this was for the Shaman. Rocks surrounded the room in different shapes and sizes. Other attendees started filling the room, and other people were bringing in musical instruments. Poppy picked a mat in the corner and put her backpack on the ground next to the mat. A young woman sat beside her and immediately removed her shoes. Poppy smiled at her, but the young lady just nodded courteously. A few minutes later, a young man walked in with some burning sage and walked around the room slowly. The room was thick with the scent of damp earth and sage's sweet and woody aroma. Once finished, a young woman introduced herself as Rosa and informed the group that the ceremony would begin soon. She then repeated herself in Spanish, German, and French. Rosa urged them not to touch anyone or sing with the Ayahuasquero, the Shaman. The group started a breathing exercise with Rosa's guidance while awaiting the Shaman.

A soft drumbeat slowly began to fill the air, rhythmic and steady, as a group of men walked in, beating small drums attached to them with rope. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man with very long hair, bare-chested and wearing worn-out khaki pants, walked in, humming loudly, followed by another group of young men carrying a bottle with a dark liquid and shot glasses. The Shaman emanated a calm presence, moving with an air of sacred responsibility as they prepared the ceremony.

The Shaman sat down, smiled at the group, and began speaking softly but firmly, explaining the significance of the journey they were about to embark on. This was not just a personal exploration but a communal experience that required trust, respect, and openness to the unknown. Rosa then quietly told everyone that they would take the drink soon. She told them they needed to set their intention before taking the drink. The Shaman stood again and sang to a large bottle of dark liquid. He then walked toward a large table and poured the contents into a wooden bowl, then ladled the thick, dark potion into small cups made of clay. His singing got louder and louder, and with it, Poppy's heartbeat grew faster and faster.

Rosa motioned everyone to stand up, and, one at a time, she told them to go and take their drinks. Poppy held her clay cup to her heart and stated her intention. I want to know my purpose and achieve it.She took a deep breath, opened her mind and heart, and gulped the dark liquid. It had the consistency of used engine oil and the taste of something very earthy with a hint of raisins, cocoa, and bark. The drink clung to her mouth, and that oiliness bothered her so much that she immediately gulped water. As the last person took the last shot, the Shaman and the assistants began humming together and singingIcaros. These traditional songs called upon the spirits for guidance and protection. The haunting melodies resonated deeply, intertwining with the natural sounds of the jungle surrounding them.

Poppy noticed her body heat rising quickly as sweat dripped down her neck. She began to feel tingling, and suddenly, all the lights were turned off. Almost immediately, she heard the girl next to her vomiting; someone else yelled, "Oh god," while crying, followed by the sound of clothes being ripped off in the corner of the room, accompanied by a scream, "I'm overheating!". Her thoughts began swirling like a tornado, and images started flashing in front of her. She watched her grandmother cooking in the kitchen and helping her pick tomatoes from the garden, her Dad walking her to the ice cream store, and her mother rocking her to sleep after her first breakup. Her sister hugged her on her wedding day, and the flower bouquet stuck on her dress. Her friend Connie was laughing and falling off the bent palm tree on their trip to Mexico. Her first dog, Daisy, was running towards her with all the love in the world. The images began to turn into colors that turned into patterns flying all around with exponential speed, dancing waves, and all the molecules, the atoms, the neutrons, the protons, and even quarks were all jumping and bouncing around. The experience was a kaleidoscope of vibrant visuals, patterns, colors, and images weaving in and out of view, evoking profound emotions and revelations. Then everything disappeared.

The next moment, Poppy was surrounded by a lush green jungle. The towering beauty surrounding her from every direction comforted her. As she walked gingerly down the leaf-carpeted path, listening to the rustling of the leaves, she couldn't help but smile, and the further she walked, the more hypnotic everything looked. The lush foliage, the gargantuan roots, the web of leaves, and the pine incense engulfed all her senses and purified her like a magical fairytale potion.

"Who is there?" A deep voice whispered, but before Poppy could answer, another person interjected.

"Seems like she is lost," another voice retorted.

"No, she does not look lost. She looks happy." And then another

"Happy to be lost, maybe." And now a whole lot of voices were laughing.

Poppy looked around, confused because she could not see anyone.

"Hello?" she yelled. "I can hear you. Sorry if I intruded. I honestly don't know how I got here." Poppy explained herself.

"Can she hear us?" One of the voices said.

"No, they never can." Another responded.

This time, Poppy interjected before anyone said anything. "Excuse me, I can hear you clearly over here. Where are you guys? I am Poppy. Again, sorry for the intrusion, but .. Wait. What do you mean by 'they never can'? Who are they? "

There was no response this time except for the songbirds chirping in all directions and the creaking of tree branches. The lush green jungle that was magical a split second ago suddenly became confusing and unknown. And unknown meant scary. Poppy went rigid as she quickly realized that nobody was in her vicinity.

The silence continued for a few more seconds before finally someone said:

"Well, this is awkward."

And then a torrent of questions and comments came flooding in.

"How can she hear us?"

"Is this for real?"

"Who is she?"

"What is she doing here?"

"How did she get here?"

"She can't hear us."

"She looks scared."

"You are all scaring her."

"Good, they should be for once."

"Everyone, calm down. Humans can't hear us. They haven't heard from us in thousands of years. They will not start now, so stop your groaning."

Then it dawned on her. She could not believe it. Am I hallucinating? I shouldn't have drunk that vile shit.This isn't what I signed up for. She heard voices while no one was around because she was not hearing humans. She was hearing trees.

Poppy staggered back, her heart racing. She blinked as reality spun around her. Memories returned in flashes. Childhood afternoons spent in her grandmother's garden, the rough bark of the trees she used to climb, the way they seemed to pulse with warmth as she pressed her ear against them, listening. Her grandmother had told her stories of nature, of how everything was connected. Every snippet flooded back: the laughter, the joy, the knowledge. Poppy took a deep breath, feeling the pulse of the jungle intertwining with her own heartbeat.

"I can hear you," she said with a newfound determination. "I don't know how, but I can." She looked up at the ancient Ceiba tree, its enormous trunk twisting skyward, thick and gnarled with age. It stood like a sentinel, roots sprawling outward, anchoring it firmly to the earth. The ground beneath her feet trembled ever so slightly, sending a ripple of warmth up her arm.

"We have long waited for one who can truly listen." A voice spoke, stirring through the leaves above her.

"She can be our voice!" Another voice exclaimed.

As the trees spoke, Poppy felt an inexplicable energy humming in the air. The vibrant colors of the flora seemed almost to pulse with life, a warm bath of greens, yellows, and deep blues that painted the landscape in vivid strokes. She listened intently as the voices flowed like a gentle river, filled with age and timelessness. But, in the back of her mind, questions invaded her thoughts.

"Why me? What am I supposed to do? I am no one."

"Your heart is open. The veil between us has thinned. Breathe, dear. Allow the stories of the earth to flow through you.The jungle is alive with memories and wonder. We are not just trees. We are guardians of balance, the very essence of harmony and unity. Humanity often forgets the whispers of the earth in its haste for progress. Each tree carries a history, a tale that intertwines with every leaf, every seed, and every creature. Share our stories, remind them of their roots; speak for those who cannot."

Suddenly, the ground beneath her shifted as she heard a familiar voice yelling her name. Then, without warning, chaos erupted around her. She jolted upright, heart racing, the vibrant colors of the jungle fading into the dull light of the ceremony room. The calling of her name pulled her from the embrace of her trance. Flashes of the jungle lingered in her mind, but they were quickly overshadowed by Rosa's frantic voice cutting through the haze. She looked up and saw everyone in the room staring at her.

"We were worried about you. You were not responding and talking to yourself."

"I… I was dreaming!" Poppy stammered, her fingers still tingling from the connection to the jungle. "I was in the jungle... the trees were speaking to me."

The next few months seemed like a blur to Poppy. Suddenly, she was on Podcasts, TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, the local news, and several TV channels. Everyone wanted to interview the woman who could talk to the trees. Most people did not believe her, and some made fun of her, but she didn't care. She just wanted to share what the trees told her and what they continued to tell her. But as these stories go, the media moved on to the next craze, and Poppy retreated to become a local celebrity. With the help of a few friends and people who believed in her, she started a podcast with a decent following. Her phone would ring occasionally from a distant university interested in doing a scientific study, a botanist, or even a farmer who needed help. Whenever she felt disappointed in herself for failing to do more for the Trees or humanity for not listening, the Trees would give her hope. Having endured for centuries and often for millennia, they understood that time was different for humans. Despite how she felt, more and more humans stopped to touch their bark, breathe in the scent of the forest, and feel the pulse of life around them. Hope and patience, they said.