The God-Head Tree

When I was a kid I went for a walk,

Deep in a forest, along a dirt path.

I walked for hours,

I walked for miles,

Until I was good and lost.

Darker and darker the world became,

As the canopy closed in above.

There were no bird songs,

There were no squirrels or wolves,

This forest was the most silent place on Earth,

Except for the leaves that crunched under my feet.

Evening came and I needed a place to stay the night,

And as if by design, I chanced upon a clearing in the trees.

Nothing seemed to grow in there,

Save a single tree.

It was ancient and gnarled,

Its branches twisted toward the sky,

Its leaves broad and wide.

The roots were a knotted mess,

And when I drew near I saw

That the tree grew up from a hill of painted bones,

Human legs and arms, feet and hands,

Though not one skull was there to see.

A breeze blew through the leaves above;

I heard a rattle, and looked up.

Painted bones hung from the branches,

Twirling in the wind.

I rounded the base of this unusual tree,

My eyes on the scene above,

When in front of me appeared an ancient crone,

The only other soul around.

She said nothing, only stared at me and I at her.

Finally, I asked, "Who are you and what is this place?"

She uttered a single sentence,

"I guard the entrance to the God-Head Tree."

I saw she gestured down at the roots,

At a narrow gap within.

A dim glow escaped the hole,

Revealing a light inside tree.

I tried to look inside,

But there were only bones to see,

All painted in ochre,

Orange, yellow, and red, like autumn leaves.

"What's down there?" I whispered to the crone.

"God is," she answered. "He lives inside the tree."

Astonished, I inquired if I could go and see.

The crone moved aside for me to pass.

I climbed into the narrow tunnel,

Filled with bones and earth.

The deeper I descended,

The more light I saw within.

The air was warm and thick,

Spiced with sweet smells, like a cottage kitchen.

It wasn't what I would expect,

From a bone-filled hole beneath a tree.

At long last I reached the bottom,

And found I stood inside a cavern,

Made of roots and bones.

Torches lit the scene, but who maintained them I didn't know.

Before me was an altar,

A massive hill of bones.

Atop it was the only skull I'd seen.

It was unlike anything I had ever known.

The empty eyes of this skull each could fit a man,

The colors of ochre spotted the surface,

But most prominent was a red patch,

In the middle of the forehead,

And down the bridge of the nose.

A serpent coiled inside the jaw,

It poked its head through a gap in the teeth,

And flicked its tongue at me.

"What a place this is," I said aloud to no one.

"Indeed, this is a mighty place,"

A voice said back to me.

It was a booming voice,

From within my head.

It echoed inside my mind,

And not against the cavern walls.

"Who are you?" I demanded, scared of what I heard.

"You already know who I am," answered the voice.

"She told you up above."

"How can you be God?" I asked,

"Since when is God a giant skull?"

Though I heard no sound,

I knew the skull was laughing.

"Since when can anyone say,

Just what it is I am?

Come and sit before me,

And let me tell you true,

Everything there is to know,

Everything I will make clear."

I knelt on the painted bones,

And gazed up at the giant head.

This was how I spent the night,

Eagerly listening to the answers,

About life, the universe, and everything.

I was baffled by what I heard,

None of it made any sense,

Though God insisted it was reality.

I stayed until the sun came up,

Taking in each word of God's,

Until my mind was heavy,

Full of weighted things.

At long last, I stood upon my feet.

"It's time I go away from here," I said,

"I don't understand these things,

I don't know how it all could be,

When I've walked the Earth my whole young life,

And my experience doesn't agree."

I knew God was laughing yet again,

But this time there was malice in the silence.

"I never said you could go," he growled

"Certainly, you had to see?

There are no other skulls here.

Each one was given up to me.

Their knowledge is now mine,

Just as yours will be.

The crone outside will eat your flesh,

She will decorate your bones,

Meanwhile, I will grow and grow.

I will add up the human knowledge,

I will add it up until I know,

The reason I am here,

The reason for the universe,

The reason for everything."

The roots began to stir around me,

Rattling the many bones.

Like snakes they writhed,

Each headed right at me.

I grabbed a weathered femur,

I struck back at the tree.

I hurried from the cavern,

Into the withered arms of the crone.

Her teeth were pointy daggers,

Her tongue a decaying worm,

Her breath was the fetid stench of death.

I struck her with the femur bone,

We both fell to the ground,

We wrestled on the mound of earth and bones.

"You cannot think to leave," she hissed.

"God must have your skull,

And I your savory bones."

I struck and struck her face and hands,

I heard her brittle fingers crack from the blows,

But still she clawed at me,

Drooling as she shrieked,

"You must do this if you want to go to heaven, dear.

Give God his skull and me my meat,

And Paradise will at last be yours."

The laces on my boot loosened,

I pulled my foot from inside,

And aimed it at her nose.

I caved it in with one hard strike,

I freed myself from her grip.

I moved out of reach of her,

Throwing bones as I went.

"God has lied about everything,

I'll never trust him now!

I doubt there is a heaven,

But if there is I have to say,

I hope you burn in hell!"

With those words I ran away,

With just one boot and one bare foot.

I ran and ran and ran,

Until the silence in the forest overtook me,

And I fell asleep,

Far from the God-Head Tree,

On its mound of painted bones.

When I woke, I found myself

Safe in my own bed.

I pulled back the covers,

Relieved to know it was just a dream,

But there on the bed I found crushed leaves,

And a painted femur bone.

I had only one boot laying on my floor.

Though now I'm far away from there,

And many years have passed,

I know I'll never trust that God,

Or his wrinkled crone,

And if you're ever walking in a silent wood,

And you come across that tree,

I pray you run the other way.

There are many bones around the roots,

You may not have the chance to flee.

You may not wake up in your own bed,

You may not be lucky like me.