Author note -
This (2010) story is presented here in full in 2024 as 500 limited edition NFTs registered on BASE (stored permanently on Arweave).
You can also collect individual original illustrations on NFT marketplaces (eg. Opensea) and also see the related chatbots, where you can talk to the tree for yourself and also generate creative content.

The Wildness Within and The Tree of Eyes

A Short Story for Young Adults (and Adults)

contents...

Introduction
Wildness Within...
The Eye
Bleakmuse and the Fire
The Tree of Eyes
The Tree Tells of its Sights
The Fear-ful Eye
The Faith-ful Eye
The Knowing Eye
The Eye... of the Tree of Eyes
The Desiring Eye
Return to the tree

dedication, suggested reading
additional artwork + concepts
2024: The Tree of (Ai) Eyes...

Let's reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages
Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests...'
- Jim Morrison

'A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.'
– William Blake

Introduction...

Many people see the world strangely. Through great lenses of their own making, or their own choosing, or that are passed down to them, over generations. From very close up or from far distances, they look out at the world. And their feelings may not always be happy ones, all of the time...

What follows is a strange tale, though it is not so much a tale, as it is a 'seeing'.
For life has a lot to do with seeing, and what it can mean, for our feelings within.

Perhaps this tale is true, you may soon see for yourself. This will depend on your eyes.

But it was found and seen, one night...

Deep... In the countryside...

Wildness Within...

We are all of us – in one sense – out in the country. Wherever it is you live, you might not be able to see it so well, or hear it. But it's there... and inside us too.

Our main character could be a boy or a girl, it makes no difference. Again, it depends what kind of eyes you have.

But just as a guide, I'll say that our tale begins with a boy who lies awake, somewhere deep in the countryside.

You might be wondering why he's awake. Well, maybe I could wonder why you are here, following this tale... Perhaps it has something to do with searching; our continual need for new - or very old - visions; to lighten our way through the dark.

Anyway, the boy was awake, in his warm bed... restless... in a darkness.

There was a breeze that night. It was just strong enough to keep a person from sleeping.

But it was not this breeze, but a wildness... flickering within him... that kept the boy from sleep.

And it made his thoughts seem like leaves in an autumn that had come early, and they whirled around inside his head.

The leaves turning... over... and over...

And they were about many things... Kings and Queens ... great, secret plans... different hopes and fresh dreams for power and success... amongst his friends, his family...

...and also, many worries and doubts too; the sharp little everyday fears - and the great ones - rising... falling... All of them turning inside a great longing; a longing for freedom; for power within him.

Then – quite suddenly – the wild feelings; they formed words... and they whispered to him. You could say they summoned him, and by using words such as:

'Come out! ... Come out and see...'

And on hearing them, the boy found he could think no more...

He turned over to face his window.

It was dimly lit, the red pattern on the curtains illuminated fiercely. They were bright enough to tell him that it must be a clear night outside.

But it was then that he noticed the different sort of light - a strange, golden glow - lying across his bedroom floor. It was ghostly and thin and it seemed to come... also from outside somewhere. It could be moonlight, he thought, except for its colour, which held his attention... hypnotically... and it seemed to beckon to the wildness that were all his feelings within...

'Come out....'

He had to get up; he had to see...

The Eye

First he sat up, before placing his feet out of the warmth and down onto the carpet. So easy, he thought to himself, but surely the biggest problem about getting up.

He was about to move towards the window when he noticed something else odd about the floor. There was a round object sitting there. Certainly something round anyway.

It was not his. Or nothing he knew was his. It seemed very strange, for it was covered with the same eerie glow (which was how he had noticed it). But he was sure it was no ordinary light. The ball seemed like a golden fruit, or a conker, that had fallen from... somewhere and then rolled into his bedroom. But how could it have? The window was closed. Its perfect shape seemed... tempting...

He went and bent down and clasped the ball in his hand. It felt slippery and cold with dew and, holding it up, it was lightly engraved with strange, intricate symbols that reminded him of familiar things. He thought one was shaped like an eye, but there seemed to be pieces still missing. In fact, there was much about it that was still... unfinished.

Just as he was holding it he nearly dropped it again. For the sphere was coming alive. It seemed to be splitting open, or at least, it was trying to open up. Like something hatching but more... mechanical. Like an eye. But it could not open; or at least, very far. He thought – just for a second – that he could see the flicker of a pupil as it opened further... until it flicked back to just a crack in the smooth orb.

Everything was still and quiet again but for his feelings.

'Come out....' Again, the wild whisper within him. The very sound of it was somehow softly ancient, but its summoning was also more urgent; more resolute now.

He looked out of his window at the quiet, well-kept garden belonging to his family. They would all be asleep; lost inside their own separate; shadowy reveries. It seemed that the night was all his and for him to make something of. There was moonlight on the lawn. But then his eyes moved over a glow – yes, the same golden glow – lightly brushing across the grass, and touching the top of the hedgerow too, and beyond...

Putting on his old jeans and jacket, he placed the object into one of the jacket pockets. Then he went back to the stiff window, cold and dark under his warm hands.

The window wouldn't move.

So he tried again...

and again...

And then with another effort it opened... heavily...

Still a bit uncertain about his own curiosity, he remained standing for awhile; just breathing.

The breeze was not cold. It was still Summer and the night was bright and brimming with nature. He could smell its freshness and hear occasional hints or rustlings of its secretive life.

So he climbed out into it with all its dark, abandoned freedom and he followed the strange glow under the clear sky... So clear, he thought... So wild.

When he reached the hedgerow in the garden, he was trying to see from where else the glow emanated; where next to follow, when he noticed a sudden flash on the ground. Quite quickly, he found the origin, because it flashed a second time, like a piece of grubby gold in the grass. He guessed it must be another piece of the... eye, or whatever it was.

So he brought it out again and after a certain amount of fumbling: click! It fitted neatly into the object from his room, completing another strange sign upon its surface. This time, it was a marking that resembled some kind of... tree. The light from the moon just caught in the small grooves of the symbol.

He liked holding the sphere, despite standing now in the garden in the middle of the night. It felt somehow powerful and... potent, but it made no movement or sign of life like before. It gave nothing away. He wondered at it but could not understand. So he resumed his journey, each time following a hint of light, and looking for a new segment.

Across the full fields... jogging now...

He could feel the lump of the eye jumping heavily with him, in his pocket.

'Keep on', uttered the wildness within.

...Beneath the great stars, where the night breeze was cool and blew through his hair. He hoped he didn't appear too mad, not that the local farmer would be about, at this hour. Nobody sane could be in such darkness; in such realms where dreams are found.

There were two more places where he found segments as before, and each time he fitted them onto the eye, they would fasten as though with an invisible force, and he hoped it would open up in his hand, or make some sign of life. But it remained silent and mysterious.

...So he trod onwards, over muddy soil... towards... the next patch of glow and the next glint from the ground...

He thought perhaps the light was just the very early dawn, producing an eerie effect. But it wasn't the orange of dawn, it was golden.

With the next segment he found, he had to clean it first with the sleeve of his jacket, revealing its subtle gleam.

But now the sphere was complete, and very smooth, with the two darkened symbols of an eye and a tree. Even so, it still made no movement. It was as though it lacked... something... a power...

Maybe if he just kept following the glow... He could see it again, a little brighter, on the edge of a high hedgerow which led out into a meadow... And ...yes, he could see a source there; the top of some strange, illuminated thing... over the brow of the field...

And it seemed full of other shining, shimmering lights like it was... Christmas?

'I could be dreaming' he thought then. 'It isn't Christmas for months yet'. But he felt the shape of the round thing in his coat pocket. And then the voice of the wildness pulling within him:...'Keep on'.

He felt tired, coming over the brow, and he had to be careful through the mud, but it was nothing to the sudden sensation that he was now... being watched.

There, before him, a little apart from a small copse of trees, stood a strange tree; very different from any other he had seen before.

How come he hadn't noticed it before? Many times he had walked here. There were even footprints – probably his own - to prove it. They led both up to the tree, and away from it, their dark outlines faintly reflected in the moist earth. For it was getting muddier.

But he knew at once this tree was different for it was fascinating, and shone with such an inner glow.

His feelings rose as they do in dreams or surprise, when we know we are experiencing something very unique, or exciting, and our minds are ready to explore new possibilities. You see, all trees are unique, but the one before him was, truly so.

It was covered in eyes.

He closed his own for a moment in complete disbelief and then opened them again. But still it remained in his vision; larger than others, and with this difference that was so eye-catching; it glittered with gold. And it was moving; shimmering with restless movement like some benign, beckoning monster.

Some of the eyes were open and some were closed, and they hung from branches, embedded into its strange leaves, or embedded into the bark of the shining trunk itself.

And they felt human - wise and seeing - as though there were people inside the tree...

Bleakmuse and the Fire

'The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.'
- Horatio in 'Hamlet'

The boy began to move closer when... the ground disappeared beneath him!

He fell forwards. The great mystery of the tree beyond - it suddenly became soft ground and a sharp pain in his arms where he had to brace himself quickly. But there had been something in the way of his feet, he was sure. He had not fallen as much as... been tripped. And it was no longer grass beneath him, but soft sand, so the pain might have been a lot worse.

"You made it out then."

A soft, gravelly voice – not from within himself this time – but from above. It had a rasp in it from elderly years or from long smoking. The boy turned himself over, still feeling annoyed at the shame that accompanied shock and interruption. Also, he wanted – he needed – to see that magical tree. But the features of the dark figure looking absently down at him were becoming more defined and through a flickering light from nearby. He quickly forgot the tree and the tree because the man was clearly a part of this entire... dream. He was strangely captivating, like someone famous or enigmatic from another time. Light danced across his face, leaving much of it in shadow. It wasn't the glow from any golden tree though; it was brighter; orange and hot and a potent blue and it came from a fire nearby. What a fire! The most impressive he'd ever seen. It was burning big, and with surprising ferocity. This strength of burning - and how the wind directed it wildly at the night - was its unforgettable feature.

"I will say -" And there was a sharp cough and a mumble, as if he was trying to remember words, or how to form them. "It took you long enough."

The boy sat up onto his elbows. "Where am I?" He could feel and hear not just the stronger wind but a salty sea also; a vast presence in the darkness. But there was never sea so close to where he lived. And if this man wasn't the local farmer he was clearly a character who had washed up from that sea. Thin and bony but with thick, ragged clothes as though partly burnt, his legs were long and his face, although gaunt and unshaven, had a fixed look that seemed - luckily - distracted and distant too. He would remember it, for it had a great depth to it, an inner, amused intelligence where laughter lived close to the surface. The features would not keep still, either because of the firelight or because the heat had maybe affected them, causing his mouth to chew or swallow or a cheek to twitch slightly.

"Welcome... to my Fire, of all Fires..." He seemed to say this a bit too proudly; as though you could own fire. Then, more quietly under his breath and more difficult to catch through the crackling of the fire: "Well, well... the Finder meets the Feeder... what progress..." Nothing he said was very direct; it was as though he spoke partly to others too, or to himself. His shaggy head turned back at the fire, and the boy was drawn back too.

Just a glimpse again at its blazing centre and he felt he could gaze into it for... ages. His questions seemed to want to fade from his mind but the man was still the immediate threat, and withheld so many answers... like how and why he was now... here. And there was another thing about him that was imposing. He was clasping quite naturally behind his back an extraordinary accessory; taller and thinner than his body. It was a stalk of a staff that pointed out at the sky in a strange mix of elegance and power since at its end was a strange, curved hook that must hold some function. It was fashioned in a figure-of-eight shape – almost a question mark - and ended at a dangerous point. He couldn't imagine its purpose but it glowed red very slightly in the gloom of the stark sky. The weight of it caused the staff to bend depending on where it was held - or wielded.

The dark-clothed figure said, "You do carry the flames... I see them... shining away behind your eyes..."

Whoever this man was he didn't seem cruel, though he didn't seem kind. His amusement might not be friendliness but a mocking play at friendliness.

"Surely it's just the light... reflecting," the boy answered.

"Oh surely... it's reflected alright... Refracted... reflected..." More muttering seemed to follow.

"Who are you?" The boy asked, more directly. He got to his feet since clearly he'd be given no assistance from the figure, still keeping to his distance, surveying him. "Are you the voice of the... Wildness?"

"Aye... you could say so. As are we all... But I did not summon you alone." A quick laugh - or a chesty cough - and a crooked finger raised and jabbed at the flames of the burning, smoking bonfire. "There lies your Wildness..." It was glowing red to white hot with gusts from the sea. "And with it... a hearty dose of madness too." The man's grin showed even more of his smoke-darkened lips.

If that implied he was mad or the man was, the boy could only guess. This opportunity didn't last because his eyes were drawn into the fire once more. It didn't seem absurd that such a sight could induce madness of some kind... Induce many things...

"And I?" (That ambiguous cough again). "I'm Bleakmuse of course. Musebleak. Whatever... just names the fire would weave... I guard the tree, and I feed and spread this fire that heats all roots and forges eyes."

"You mean the Tree of Eyes?" The boy remembered then the enticing glow in his mind.

"Aye... even the things that go on that."

The boy looked around in the gloom for the tree again, but he knew, within such black shadows and bright firelight, that they had to be far down, somehow beneath the ground in a sort of beach cave. He was cornered with this man, his strange fire and a cold, black ocean beyond. How this had happened after just a brief fall, he would never know...

"You tripped me..." he accused.

Bleakmuse was shifty, always with one eye on the flames. He stopped to lean on his unusual staff, and then he would shift again and lean on it a little differently.

"I know."

He didn't expect a quick confession from the scruffy man, who would have a way of answering without answering... "The fire of the world is no easy thing to keep stoked up young sir... no... no, it isn't... But it will show you your tree it seems... hmmm...." Bleakmuse leaned closer and looked less wild for a moment, and perhaps, more genuine and... normal? But it was short-lived since it seemed something forced him to keep watch over the fire. There was another strong gust of wind.

As they stared together at the reaction of flame, the potent voice continued. "I like you... for your arriving... here... It is not your fault though... You've found me through the World and its wildness... and through other eyes of your kind... through this Time that burns..." His face turned casually back to look down at the boy. "I am your symbol, and proud to be so." Their faces locked briefly before the sunken, artful eyes flashed red where his head turned back, yet again, into the hearth.

"As is this fire. I stoke it with the minds of souls... and their hot dreams. It keeps the fire fresh and keeps it free... and from its ashes come gold."

The boy noticed then, a shape on the ground; a rather battered old guitar lying to one side of the fire. This somehow warmed him to the man; a symbol as it was, of peace and music.

"Do you play music?"

"Of course... When the fire burns so low or... so fierce... I try to play and sing for it. Such harmonies within the world can help its own."

He thought he was to reach for it but in the next moment he had stooped to the fire and was pulling an object out from the burning base of it with his hooked staff. It was an impressive sight, for he must have done this many times before. Deftly he performed what could have been some arcane ritual. The emerging object was... round... and suddenly the boy recognized it as similar to the one he had found in his room, which now lay in his pocket. Not only this, but the object fitted neatly into the round ending of the staff – the figure-of-eight - as though made for its purposes. He heard Bleakmuse whistling slightly as he performed this act like some... duty.

"There you see 'em fresh... ready for scattering." His voice was a strange mix of eloquence and farmer, like an educated man who had become a farmer.

So it seemed the boy was now to witness a further use of the staff. The tool had teased the object free of the fire where it was glowing with a fresh and smoking intensity. It was an open eye and might have been watching them. Not for long though for with another swift, perfect yet powerful gesture Bleakmuse flung it free and upwards out into the air. It flew far like a comet lifting away to be slowly extinguished by the darkness. It must surely fall into the dark ocean. Or perhaps, back above somewhere to land in the boy's fields, breaking apart into pieces across the wet grass... "Ripe for finding," the hoarse voice said with a knowing wink which could have been another twitch.

"This must be yours then", spoke the boy. And he brought out the engraved eye which felt much warmer than it had before. But to his surprise it was still closed.

The dishevelled figure raised a smoky eyebrow as the eye beneath it cast across the boy's hand. "No... 'Tis is the fire's and 'tis not spent yet... 'Tis not for me that." Still, he stooped down and peered at it more closely, as though looking not just at it but through into it. "It can go on your Tree for now. And a fine decoration it will make indeed, if I don't say so; quite finely assembled." For the only time he would see it, the man flashed a wide, indulgent smile and it remained there as he looked up and met the boys bright eyes.

"Long may it shine. The Time is coming... It seems men are ready to see. They are ready to know beyond their desires, beyond themselves... to see and know the fire. It is good you have come." And, after leaning back with his high-reaching staff for support, his smile faded with a quick sigh and his voice became gruffer and more serious. "Ahhh because it is a hungry world at that."

Then he locked eyes with the boy again and as he did so they seemed to open more wildly in their staring so the boy had an idea that something more was going to happen. Bleakmuse spread one bony hand at the fire whilst with his other he made a swift and simpler gesture this time; raising the staff and dropping it into the earth. This ignited a great burst of flame from the centre of the great fire. And the boy felt it too – not just the blaze of heat – but a searing, soaring burst within his stomach and he was forced down to his knees; his hands to the hot sand.

He felt choked with... inspiration and pure desire... of many kinds. It was not quite hunger but a great power that rose within him – a power to share... share feeling with all the world and above all, to reach the tree he had seen. He had forgotten this hunger, keeping him awake - this wildness in the world - because it was as though being so close to its source, this fire - or whatever it may be - had calmed or placated it. Only now it was renewed, and it cleared his thoughts and freed them to flow strong again.

"What h..h.. happened?" The boy managed... "Wwwhy did you do that?"

"Well, I had to. Else you might never find the will again... to go... For you must feel the fire... before you can see the Tree... as the fire so forges your fantasies, so too may it break them. But... I wonder..." The crackling seemed less soothing and more sinister. "Can you know the Fire... through the Tree?... Hmmmm, we shall see... Just take care you linger not too long... up there." His eyes rose heavenwards for a moment as if rolling them in disapproval.

"So the Fire and the Tree are... connected?" The boy managed, because he did want to go, either back home, the tree or somewhere else - anywhere else.

"Such trees... even their strangest fruit... have always been a part of this great fire... only you can really know..." The man's face moved closer, and so he realised Bleakmuse had no ordinary eyes, for the pupils were very wide and black and instead of brown or blue or green, the irises were a vibrant orangey-red. "It is through many of the eyes that you can feel the full heat of these flames boy and I would put you on this staff and cast you down into the midst of them." The boy could imagine this was possible. The voice speaking was smokier and more sincere but it was still... contained. "They have burned your precious tree in the past, boy... believe you me... those flames bind us and drive us ever... And just as our eyes direct us... so too does confusion from so many blind us to their nature... So there is nothing I am not partial to do for their simple sake... though I am a slave to them just as you. No matter what we may find, none of us... are safe."

The boy was backing away now, but fortunately the man was too: "I will get back to my gathering. But it is good to have met you and to have made words once again... and with you... Finder..."

The words were all so strange, mad even, but such madness was captivating to hear, and there might yet hold some kind of meaning.

"All eyes come here eventually, as all sparks must burn out in the end..." A thin arm and finger pointed over the scene and circled the fire. The fire whistled and snapped as if to punctuate the words spoken. "You see, reflections and old leaves – even the most secret symbols - are also a great source of Heat."

Then Bleakmuse stood back up and peered upwards into the darkness like a hawk. A round, illuminated thing – faintly gold - was falling from above now and Bleakmuse lifted a thin arm and parted his long fingers in a slow, natural gesture of catching. He seemed to be always ready to move. With a natural grace he caught the object – a closed, lifeless sphere – and tossed it neatly into the fire to crackle and to burn.

"What a carnival it all is eh? Dead eyes...to burn fresh inside new minds... but I do remember them... I do remember what great things, what marvels... the fire reveals to us..."

The figure seemed lost again now, stoking at the flames and shuffling about. They did seem all connected to the flaming hearth he could now tell, and whenever the staff dipped into the core he felt his own feelings turn and burn up slightly too. He began to move closer to it, entranced...

"Keep back!" the voice burst like the flames - not out of place - but it broke the spell for enough time. "Don't get too close... many get too close... or far too far... Be gone now..." He spoke over his shoulder, as if realising again that the boy was still there. "Find your damn tree, but I would give you things to think on, young fellow..." And the man looked for the last time wistfully – but still wildly - into the boy's bright eyes. "Ask yourself... Is it Power you seek? ...or Belonging? ... And just how closely are these... connected?" A chesty laugh as though to himself and he was reeling back to face the fierceness of the flames; their incessant demand for attention. "One more subtle game you play..." And he stoked again as though more to fight them; with jerking stabbing movements until new crackling began.

His mutterings came back and continued along with this renewed, frenetic stoking as the boy now moved away, towards a path that somehow the firelight had illuminated near the shore. It was both easy and hard to walk. He heard the sea crash as though to counter his intention to leave the lively warmth behind, where more mutterings still drifted to his ears as he followed the path further away from its intensity. The boy managed to catch a little more as he pulled himself away from the glow.

"Would I go back and leave you? They'd never ask ole Bleaky... no... not after growing so far... Not after seeing so deep... There is no going back without... changing... and I am happier here ... yes... happier... saltier... saltier... happier."

The boy could say nothing more. It wasn't just this, but it was the feeling that he couldn't ask even if he wanted to, just as in dreams we witness events as though we were controlling them, but in fact are not.

Also, back into his mind sprang the tree... it was this he must reach... The tree that he knew lay up there, shining with the glow that had first cast its enchantment, where the thin path led higher upwards and - he hoped - back to where he'd fallen. So he left the tall figure stoking the white heart of that wild fire below. It seemed to him there were no other paths.

The Tree of Eyes

The night breeze was cool and it moved through branches and leaves and this sound was like a new, more musical kind of ocean, breathing.

And from within that sound came... words... that drew him closer... over the brow of the hill to where he had stood before.

"Youuuuuuhoooouuuuu... therrreeee..."

As he moved closer they no longer spoke inside of him, but above him. Their deep, mellow timbre that seemed... ageless to his ears told him it must be the tree. It was amazing to hear, like no ordinary voice, but a voice that came through the sound of all its leaves rubbing or rustling together. For there it was again, shining through its enticing eyes and he felt relieved that he could see it and feel it for himself.

"You'rrre welcommmme ... to myyyy sighhhhtssssssshhhhhh...." and what seemed like a small laugh followed, tingling out into the fresh air.

Then, much more softly: "Of courrrsssse you arrrrre...." and the leaves rustled again, and the light from the golden trunk caught in the pools of some of the eyes, and in the eyes of the boy too, looking up so eagerly into their orbs, drinking in the whole scene. It was hard to tell but the eyes were of many different sizes. However, there were more that seemed small beside larger, more bulging ones that moved slower on branches and less... avidly. Some were clearly older but not necessarily less bright.

"I ammmmm pleeeassssed... you havvvvve ffffounnnd mee... Whhhat brinngs you beforrrre myyy eyessss? ... " It was not like the voice of a snake or any animal because it came through the motion of the wind. It was more like the softest sand passing through a funnel, and the boy stood beneath this, so it was pouring over him and through him all at once.

He felt no shyness in speaking the truth. "The... wildness... It brought me..."

Again, the voice filled the space between them: "... So... it... seeeemms...." And most of the dark pupils of the eyes looked back and down at him. Some he noticed were brighter and larger than others.

Now that he stood up close he could see that the trunk of the tree was intricately carved and the eyes seemed to have grown quite randomly out of it, mostly out of the ends of the branches. The golden leaves were like the palms of hands that held the eyes like lamps to shine out and pierce the darkness.

And he saw that one eye was missing from its branch. It was dark and blind; the branch searching about and across other branches. He felt for the wildness of its movements. But he knew now the origin of the glow on his bedroom floor, and a use for the sphere – the lump in his pocket - that had entered his room. He was glad he had made it here, if only to fulfill one small puzzle in all that was puzzling.

Then he realized why it was so gold. There still seemed to be sand here, all around the base of the tree, which reflected and added to the light. Yes, he himself stood on muddy sand, and he could hear the hushed crash of terrible waves from somewhere close by, but further out in the darkness. There was a vague saltiness to the quality of the air.

'It must still be a vivid dream', he thought. 'Or perhaps, something that could become something... worse', and he didn't like this idea so much. It made him feel alert and vulnerable again. On the other hand, the tree's voice had been comforting.

Nearby he could see the dim stalks of long grass waving with the strength of the breeze, and around the base of the trunk it was darker and sludgier, with long stems of black plants – ivy of some kind - growing up onto the tree, encircling it or fixing itself onto the bark.

But where he stood it was all so bright and golden, he felt warm and relaxed. 'This is... marvellous,' the boy thought. Some of the eyes on the lower branches were leaning towards him, as though beckoning for attention; to catch his own wide eyes.

"Wwwhhhhyyy ... thankk-youuuu... younnngling..." and it seemed quite natural, (like the wildness within, which felt less wild again), that the tree knew his thoughts. As though this was all somehow still a part of himself... his dream?

"I ammmmmmm... fulllll ... of marrrvels!..." and the branches seemed to stretch upwards or outwards.

After another pause and a slight contraction. "Thoughhhhh it is nottt withouttt... a priccce..."

The boy wondered at this, but mostly just at how a tree could be speaking to him.

"But I can seeee... that youuuu..." there was a gap in the flow, "...Have brrrought somethinnng... forrr me..."

He felt lost in the voice for a moment, but then found himself simply taking the dense eye out of his pocket and holding it out in one hand, like some offering. He was perhaps a bit fearful of its power, if it had any. It lay still though, and in a position that was the same as before; almost fully closed. It also felt heavier; holding it up was already becoming difficult.

Luckily, it did not take long for the same, sorry branch with the empty socket he had seen before to come down like a tentacle towards his hand, cautiously. He could hear the wood creak a little but, just like a horse or a donkey on an apple, it licked up the eye - clicked it up - into place, before pulling back up into the tree to be lost amid the other branches. It was quite quick; he'd hoped he'd see more...

He felt in some strange way that it was still his; that he was responsible for it, but also he felt accomplished, and very glad to be free of the weight of it. He only hoped it would now open up and work like the others, but... he had lost its position in the great tangle before him.

There were questions forming through the mind of the boy. But for a short while he would just stand and stare up into the depths and the sheer gold against the darkness; and be in awe, accepting that it was there. The tree didn't seem to mind.

The Tree Tells of its Sights

Putting his hands back into his pockets, the boy decided it was time to speak out unto the tree.

"Oh...Tree of gold..." A part of him felt very bizarre, but he decided he might as well live this dream; make the most of it. "What price is there... that you spoke of?"

He hoped it would not be high (and also that the tree could hear his small voice in comparison to its very silvery one). But soon the sound enveloped him again, faceless and scintillating through his small being.

"Aaaahhhhhhhssssshhh, it might not be of grrreat concern to youuu yet... but... Mossstly... it is a verrrry simple; a verrry... precciousss thing..."

Bracing himself in the short silence, he couldn't help wondering whether the tree had a face, hidden high up in the centre somewhere. He could not even tell if the voice was male, or female, or both.

"Time... of courrrssse..."

Time. The word conjured only thoughts of the restless time he had spent earlier, trying to get some sleep, and failing to.

"You seee... younnnglinggg... I am gold only because the earrrrth in which I grrrrow... is so... brrrown and richhh." The tone became more proud. "Lookkk downnn at... my foundationnnnssss."

The boy looked down at the sludgy sand, the tangle of black, clutching ivy reaching out from it. And he noticed again the crowds of - faded - footprints like his own, that seemed to have stood heavily where he now stood, disturbing the earth. They were not just his own, but of many different sizes.

"You will see golden sand, but also, within this, there is mud and sweat, and effort, from all those like you who have given me... visssssions before ... such visionnnnnssss... "

And from the way the word tailed off into the breeze, it seemed the tree was lost in a reverie again, and one so deep it might not re-emerge.

"Is it the same as... wildness?" Though the boy spoke of it, he spoke through it. For it was still there, inside him, driving his question.

The rustling came again. "It is... througgghhh thisss... which they came..."

The boy was disappointed for a moment, because he thought he had at least been a bit special, for finding this vision for himself, so real and new it was to him. But it seemed it was not new at all, but somehow... ancient.

Just then another night breeze blew, still not cold, but strong enough to move many of the branches. And, shockingly – he heard a sharp, sudden "CRAAaaackK"... from somewhere high above.

Close to the top, one of the more worn, very old-looking eyes had suddenly broken off with its golden leaves scattering into fragments. The boy watched as it was carried away into the space of night and the darkened trees of the copse nearby. Just before it disappeared he thought he could make out that the eye had closed and looked dead. It seemed likely it would never open again, now it was so severed from the power of the tree.

"Are you alright, Tree? Why did that happen?" It was not something that should happen to a golden tree after all.

He waited for the branches to move and form a reply, and to hear the great, soft voice again.

"Ahhhhhhhssshhhh, I ammm fffine... thhhankyouuu... It is jusssst parrrt of... grrrrowth... Sinccce now anotherrrr way of seeing has become... uselesssss... to people... and has been blown from the worrrlld...

"But... carry on... younngling... ask yourrr questions... quessstions... quessstionnnsssss..."

The tree was right; the boy had more of these, for he had grown already a little used to the sheer presence of the tree, and his curiosity now seemed to require explanations.

"Well, what are all these eyes? Are they all ways of seeing then?"

The tree seemed to stretch itself again.

"Indeeeeed... They are the neeeed in peeeople... in youuu it seems ... to have... visssion... To see out at some parrrt... or parrrts... of the myssstery of the world... Like that eye you just saw... break off... Let me seeee... that one saw quite... flatly..."

"Flatly?"

"That the Earrrrth is flat, of course... did you not knowww?"

"The Earth is round, it's a planet", spoke the boy. He was glad to say something he was sure about, standing in his current situation.

"Ahhhhhaaaaaaa! Well, that maybe true, but it wasn't true... not... beforrrre..."

This didn't seem to make sense, no matter how mysterious and entrancing the voice sounded. Surely things were either true or not true.

"And that one?" He pointed out a fairly large, golden eye, low down and half-open, that also, he noticed, was swaying gently on its stem from side to side, as though lost to itself. "How does that one see?"

"Temporarily."

The boy paused to think on this new, simple response.

The tree seemed to inhale a new breeze before it elaborated. "It seeeeees our worrrrld as temporary... transient... you mmmight sssayy... Merely a gateway to... some otherrrr."

"So what..." he inquired more generally, "What is the use of them all?"

It wasn't such a good idea.

"USSSE?... Ussssse? You sssay?" The tree seemed to expand with a sudden but steady inflation of unrest. And the boy felt even smaller and slightly scared. It seemed he had affronted the tree.

"DO they neeeeed a use?... They help me to breeeeathe... That might be enough, do youuuu not thinnnk?
... And besidesssss, are they not merely... marrrvelousss enoughhhh?"

It was not nice hearing the voice shake more urgently. Nor to see some of the eyes swivel on their branches and shift about uneasily.

"Forgive me, tree!" And he meant it. "I meant only... to ask..."

"Hmmmmmssshhhhhhhh. Welllll... they help me... oh yessssss!" the tree seemed to tingle its leaves a little... "They have uses..." Just then the boy could hear a distant, muted crash of waves from the unseen sea. "But perhaps you mean... do they have a use to you?"

The boy wondered. He wasn't sure if he needed any more eyes.

"Hmmmmmssshhhh..." it continued defensively. "Are more eyes not better than few... or even none at all? That's a question. Mine... they may help you... They help people... to breeeathe too... either in their separate ways or all together and... in unison..."

The tree was quiet and seemed lost in thought again for awhile. So was the boy.

"Can you see them?"

"I see thrrrrough all of them. Not at once I might add... but those that are... used... the mossst." He wondered which ones, out of the hundreds that were visible.

"But I'll sssssay thisss, boyyy... or girrrl... I can't really seeee verrry well, you know."

This remark did seem out of place, considering how many eyes moved and peered down from their lamp-leaves or glowed out at the stars above.

There was a fair amount of creaking and rustling. "Ahhhh yesss, you might sssayyy, it's a sssorrrrt of... self-absorption... I suffer from... hahaaaaaaaa... haaaa.... Ahem... whewwwwwshshhh."

It was possible the tree was chuckling, but he would never know. It was all so curious. But it wasn't every day that you got a chance to converse with a tree, especially one like this.

"What were you going to say, tree?"

The voice fell again from the reaches, more seriously. "That many of these sssights... little sapling... they exist alllready, insssside your mind... I am merely presenting them to you here... More fully... Because you have come unto meeeeeee..." There was a pause, and the breeze whistled over some of the moving eyes. "You arrree... you willll ssseee... meee. As much as... I... and you... arree allll mankind." So close, the boy felt like he was on a low stage, but where all the actors were above him and trying to catch his attention, so they could perform. It was difficult to see.

"These dayyyys..." the tone became more proud again, "I see welllll through this onnne." A branch moved close to the centre, and he could see a large, bright eye - its inky circle - looking out.

"But not soooo well with... this one..." From higher up, a different branch lowered towards him and he could see that again, it was a very old-looking eye, so worn and dusty it could hardly open.

The boy swept aside his messy hair – still tousled from uneven sleep and the night breeze – and felt that he began to see a little of what the tree spoke of. He did know that in older times people could not have known the Earth was round and that this would have made them see the world – and themselves – in a different way.

Now it seemed that the tree began to grow more golden before him, as though strengthening.

The leafy voice spoke more quietly again, as though for its own sake, as well as for the small, humbled figure at its base. "Ssssoo sinncce you arrrre really prrresenting all this... to yourrrrself... through me... It meansss that I am as muchhh a parrrt of you and your nature, which has created them.... Which... also means..."

There was a short but deep silence... and then:

"Sssshhhhhhhhhh." It seemed to wrestle with itself. Far off, there came again, a subdued crash of waves from out in the dark.

The boy waited, still wondering where to look. "Yes?" There were just so many eyes jostling.

"Which meeeansss... I owe youuuuurrsself... an apology."

The boy was surprised, thinking the tree much more harmless again. "An apology?"

"I should not have beeeeeen... so prrroud before. Sinccce we have sssummoned each other... I am at your ssservice... the ssservice of your particular... Wildness... whom we, each of us, serrrve... yesssssssssssshhhh."

The tree seemed pleased with itself at least. The boy was still rather lost at the words, inside the words, and how it was he could have summoned the creation of it before him. But all this, may occur to our character, sometime later, as is often the case with brief events or things that we see or hear during life.

It was still like a dream though, he thought to himself, and a dream he did have some strange kind of control over.

The vast voice came again as though he had spoken this. "Welllll, be nott sssooo prrroud of yourssself either... It is alssso the case... that I may take many, many formssss..."

He found himself again wishing that he could see a face on the tree, just to imagine the wistful look that might have existed then.

"No, you do nott neeeeeed me to have... a face, I'm affrrraid... I am better at sssseeeeing than I am at talking..." There was creaking again from many different parts, as the eyes swayed a little or stretched outwards. The boy couldn't imagine what it must be like to see through one of them, even the half-closed ones. It all seemed confusing again and he wondered, for a brief moment why he was here at all, in the middle of the night.

"Jusssst try and see things this way... sprrroutlinnggg." At the 'tling' sound there was a tiny 'ting' sound, like a triangle instrument. It was strange to hear such a word sound so interesting.

Then it seemed the tree became more serious. "Many of my sigghhhts bring Power and focus to the feeelings of people; a harrrmony through which to accept the univerrrrse... for without them, they may seem lost... or too confussssed... to live..."

"So my quessstion is... Can you accept your univerrrrse? And that wildnessss moving within you?"

The boy did not know but he did feel its flickering within and, since he could wait for an invitation no longer, asked. "May I see these Sights, tree? How can I?"

It replied quickly and quite casually. "Of courrrrse youuu can... As I have explained... my eyessss are your eyessss. And to see through them you mussstt merely hold their gaze... But firrrrsssst... Chooooose..."

It seemed as though everything was shimmering above him, but he felt the gaze of all the eyes from out of the bark or their leaves upon him, looking down. It was bewildering but exciting too, for he wanted to see; clearly. More clearly than ever in his life. And through many of them or all of them at once. But which one? The eyes were all quite different: small, large, red, blue, green, and with different styles of movement.

He reached out for one that seemed to be squinting, and it reached for him in return, though a little cautiously.

"Bring it up to your own eyesssss..." came the voice again.

The Fear-ful Eye

Holding the branch carefully, he could see exotic symbols lightly engraved into the gold bark and imprinted onto the weathered leaves that surrounded the eye like petals at its end.

The markings seemed familiar to the boy, like ancient engravings out of the past, from civilizations long since died out. There was a long, curling line like an eyebrow on one of the leaves.

The eye itself was large but not fully open; it squinted as though looking into a bright, harsh sun. In fact, the boy wondered how it could still see at all. But he was able to examine the iris. It was a deep, vibrant, earthy brown... hypnotic... and as he held its gaze it began to pull at him... beckoning... so that he now felt anxious suddenly at this power, and managed to pull his gaze free again. He asked up to the tree: "Who sees through this?"

"That one...." A strange meditation ensued. "Hahhhmmmmmuurrraaaasshhhhh."

"You'd beeee surrrprised," spoke the tree, softly again. "Jusssst how many people still seeeee thrrrough that one".

He was still uncertain, deciding to wait for the tree to elaborate, meanwhile watching cautiously the light coming from the open segment of the eye.

"Thatttt one looksss out with grrreat Fearrrr upon... Death. And once, it looked deeep and harrrd... See for yourrrself."

Hearing this, he felt less keen. But heavy though the branch had begun to feel, the boy brought the eye up to his two curious ones and met steadily the strange, ancient gaze. At once it held his in return and seemed to open a little further.

It was not the same as peeping down a hole...

The vision before him was total, and he felt dizzy with vertigo, as if he was going to fall onto the sand before him. Because there was sand. A whole desert of it. And he was falling with a sudden sense of... fear... to his knees... and looking around, he found that the others of his tribe were kneeling also. His... tribe...?

Indeed, it seemed he was part of a ring of people; a tribe that encircled the tree alongside him, and they were... chanting. And he was chanting too; strange, cryptic words. It was darker and their figures were very dark too, but, looking down, he could see his skin was bared, and across his chest were branded exotic, swirling patterns. They were like the ones on the leaves under his fingers. And these patterns seemed to give him a strange sense of power; a potency. Some of his fellows were holding torches that burned up at the night and there was a strong wind as though from an ocean he could not see nearby. He thought it must shake the branches of the tree standing in the centre and which the whole tribe seemed to be... worshipping...

But the tree was no longer a tree. It was a great bonfire that had yet to be lit with a tall pillar of wood sticking up in its centre.

And there was someone tied to that pillar, the dark shape of a body... that was... crying out... a man's cry...

The boy felt greater fear then. It was fear for the man, whoever he was, but even more, a fear for the great wind and sky, and his own fragile life within it; a fear for the tribe, his friends and family within it all...

...And fear for another man, their leader, who now left their close circle to step forward towards the small mountain of wood. He carried one of the torches and was chanting the loudest. And suddenly he raised the torch and the whole tribe was silent. And the boy too, kneeling and covered in dust, was silent.

He wondered how it was that the leader seemed to have become so mysterious... It was as though he had become much taller; a mighty person like a god that stood before them, covered in painted symbols, similar to his own. And this god had power....the power of life and death, and carried with him all their hopes and desires, for staying alive...

For they were hungry... terribly so... and the leader and the fire were somehow a source of food and water and life. And so was the powerless, crying man, - or men, for there might have been more than he thought - tied to the base of the wooden trunk. The Vanquished.

He could not stop the leader from lighting the fire. For it was though to stop him would be to condemn them all to the will of the wild wind. However, as their leader stepped back into the ring, having now just set the torch to its hungry work, the boy wished that the fire would hurry up and catch and spread.

For as the dawn light began to break there was only the crackling of the fire and the subdued murmurings, the trembling chants of its intended victims. They seemed to be too frightened or condemned, to scream anymore. There was time to notice great, solemn shapes on the horizon – great triangles of some kind that held even greater mystery for him; they somehow carried more of his awe and hope and power... against fear and death. For the boy's mind was full of images of death, from the teeth of savage animals to the spears of rival tribes. And there was a great stabbing fear inside him for many more kinds of things...

... For great pools or lakes of black water hiding deep mysteries, and even blacker forests that held wild, dangerous animals, and such fears made great Gods amid the Earth that threatened and must be obeyed. And these Gods of Fate who must be heeded looked out of everywhere and everything. They lived inside their very names, which were evoked when it suited or it seemed to suit... For without comprehension or certainty these forces must be... appeased... to stop terrible consequences.

All this struggled about within the boy and he looked away at the great mystery of the burning sun now breaking the horizon and he feared it and he hated it. For many of his fellows had been lost for its sake. The blood of his friends and their beating hearts feeding the fire of that fierce, faceless power...

As faceless... as... a tree... the tree... all golden...

Then the wind caught the fire and it flared up suddenly. Its strength was brilliant and it somehow ate not only at the wood but at his own fear, so that he began to feel it less inside, and in turn he felt more powerful himself... So that he shouted out a name with renewed bravery for himself amongst his people.

And if it was his own name or the name of his tribe or its leader he did not know. But he saw the one man who was standing up among them turn his head and meet his gaze for a moment. It held a wild but focused fear. But the tribe resumed their shouting and cheering and this great figure of a man stepped forward again. In the light of the burning fire and the breaking day the boy could see a round thing – a thing familiar – held tightly in one of the leader's long hands. It had a golden glow about it.

Then he suddenly remembered what it was and also who he was, a boy, and how he came to be watching and witnessing this whole scene. An eye.

The leader cast the sphere out into the fire. It flared once more, striking lots of tiny sparks into the diminishing darkness, and this somehow illuminated – or revealed - the trunk of a great tree and at the same time, made the bonfire fade and the whole tribe around him fade...

...And so the vision faded, and the boy felt himself as himself again, but more alone, except for the tree above and the look from a wide, earthy brown eye which he held by a strange branch in front of his face.

He closed his own eyes quickly, and it was only then that the connection broke completely.

...For when they re-opened... he was standing as he was before, with the branch in one hand and the fearful eye only squinting up at him again. So he released it with its ornate leaves with intricate carvings, back into the twisting and shimmering above.

"Wo... ow," he managed weakly, breathing heavily. "That was... so real..."

"Hmmmmmssshhhh,"came the deep whispering through the leaves . "Thatttt is becausssse... onnccce....it was... and always... will be."

The Faith-ful Eye

It took him some moments to recover, before he could sense the eyes of the whole tree regarding him again. At the same time, he was surprised at just how alive he had felt, so vivid and so close in the confrontation of his inner fears. It left him feeling energetic and powerful – quite arrogant – in himself. And with so many others to choose...

His senses still reeled from the hungry passions that had filled him round the bonfire. Even so, he hoped – very much – that the beautiful eyes – their many colours - did not all look into such dark scenes of death and fear that lay inside people.

He was still hoping this when he noticed the next eye. Or rather, it noticed him, for it slowly emerged near the centre of the tree on a large branch, seeking to meet his gaze with its very purple-coloured one.

"Why is it so large?... Is this one the biggest?"

"Once it was... yessssssshhh... but not now... noooooo... There is anotherrr... biggerrrr..."

And at that moment, despite the size of the bulbous eye that hung heavily but swivelled on its own stem, he noticed another movement, closer to the trunk (but still connected to the same branch). It was higher up and very blue; partially hidden through the crowd, but it was there; the largest eye visible; looking calmly and inquisitively down. He just caught the glint of light on the surface of its round, inky pool and guessed that it had noticed him. And for a moment the boy felt himself being suddenly, keenly examined. But it did not extend towards him. He could not be certain of its gaze.

For the moment, the closer eye appeared so eager to the boy and so – hopeful – that he reached out for the branch, to pull it closer. There was a soft creaking as it lowered towards him in turn. The leaves that surrounded the eye had symbols similar to before, but this time he recognized a few of them. They glowed with a pure, white light within their engravings on the dark leaves. He saw a cross, a fish, a star and a pentacle amongst many others. Somehow, they were comforting, so he took a deep breath and looked up to meet the gaze and the hope in the orb...

Everything fell silent and subdued, serene and almost cold... He was now standing in a great place of worship and there were many people gathered with him. And there was great hope, for guidance and energy and... renewal. Standing on tiptoes he could see that there were people ahead of him positioned slightly higher than others and they were dressed in robes and big hats. As the crowd moved – for there was a good, comforting crowd – he soon found he was looking up unexpectedly in order to receive this energy – this power. It was similar to how he had been feeling... around a great fire somewhere... before. And again, there was one person there especially, who was speaking out the words of some code or creed, and every so often the words would be repeated by him and his fellow audience in a kind of submission. And every time the robed man uttered the words the boy felt renewed belief in some great and terrible, almighty presence. Then the man turned and faced something, and the boy knew it was the tree again; that they were outside gathered underneath the tree, and the man raised his arms and a great white light appeared inside his mind...

...and the boy was kneeling again, with... his tribe... Again, they were all about him. And his feelings sank as he realized the fire and the screams of the dying people were also there in front of him again, and not the tree anymore.

But it was not exactly like before. Looking about he knew there were differences. This time he was wearing rustic or peasant clothes, and the man who had been leader of the tribe now wore a white robe and carried a book and a great golden leaf with a symbol of a wooden cross and he was chanting in what sounded like Spanish. The symbol was raised toward the flames of the great fire and the man was speaking intently and grandly, bold words out of the book.

And this time the boy felt less of the strange victory over his fears at any good things the people's deaths would bring. This time he felt only relief that he was not among the witches who were burning. For that was what he believed them to be. The fire would take back those who were in league with Devils; with dark beings.

And then he saw it. A great, purple eye, with the same assured and eager - almost to the point of arrogance - and yet hopeful gaze. It looked out from the centre of the flames and it was illuminated – fiercely - by these flames. And the victims it seemed were now tied to this. The flames again crackled but the boy could not cover his eyes and ears at the sound of the screams, in case he himself was accused by his people and would then, also, be offered up unto this eye.

But he closed his eyes tightly nonetheless, and when he opened them thankfully the scene had changed...

There was a tree again, but there were no eyes anywhere upon it. It was somewhere... different. It was just a stark, regular tree that grew in hot climates for the sun was burning bright and hot above him, instead from any crackling fire. It had only one large branch this time, and a white noose was tied ominously about it, hanging down, twisting slightly, in warm gusts of wind.

And watching it, the boy began to feel a slow dizziness in the slow circles, and he thought of... crowds... many crowds under the control of symbols and signs... like the ones on the rich leaves... like the cross on the leaf in the robed man's hand...

He was glad of the noose, for it seemed like some release from guilt and from all... life. For he felt guilty, terribly guilty that he had betrayed some friend; he had led to the terrible death of this friend.

And he felt that the birds above must be dark angels, preparing to take him soon to some dreaded place, where there would be no sun...

The boy wondered uneasily – from within his own being - where this vision was going...

And then other images flashed before his eyes... of a great garden with a man and a woman as kings and queens over all animals, and of a great tunnel with a great white light at the end... of great battles under banners of white, of great cries of suffering, and then... visions of people sitting or praying in many different small rooms. They sat silently in small boxes where their fires burned to warm them through a great winter. And those praying were now cursing themselves or their doubts and making new but old – ancient - promises to themselves... so that... yes...

...they could feel pure again... greater energy within that they called love; a form of warm energy that demanded through its fire that it be shared and spread into others, so much that these people began to dance together.

And he could sense that many eyes, hanging on a tree – his tree - were now going blind, and he was wishing it... That every one would go blind except for a one which he shared with these people, who were looking up... at the sun... and he looked up too....

... And saw it... faceless... burning... wildly... and, under that threatening sun the boy felt less assured again; quite suddenly. The fire of his new energy died away.

Because he thought he could also make out the vague blue outline of a different eye looking out of that sun. It was familiar; for the last time he had seen it, its blueness had been concealed and embedded high up into the main trunk. And, he could see that it had the same mild, inquisitive look but that this was... threatening. It was threatening all their beliefs, his beliefs and their new power again. It was raising their buried doubts from where they had been buried... And it was burning through their walls and their rooms, their boxes... It was causing branches of the tree and their eyes to jerk about... and it was causing the words of those people beside small fires, to change... to adapt... and form new words, and new symbols, (he even glimpsed one symbol just like a tree, with eyes that were opening and beginning to see again)... before... The power could return, and they were able to resume their ritual dancing again; stoking up a fire so their own would burn; burn brightly again...

And the boy found he was dancing with them, and chanting. It was immensely satisfying and totally absorbing for awhile. He felt clear in his mind and free to think and feel for others and for... again, a great tree of some kind...

The force of his buried curiosity suddenly re-awoke. This time it broke through his trance – their trance – utterly. He was certain he could now see... the blue outline of a new, exciting vision once more, appearing again in a flash in his mind...

..And it was this new curiosity that enabled him to remember who he was again and where he was, and that, in front of his face, the gaze of the large, purple eye no longer made him feel... hopeful. It simply held no power any longer... And with a surprising suddenness he let go and it was flung back up into the dark reaches of the tree.

The boy was flung onto the mud and knelt there breathing heavily.

"Hmmmmmsssssssshhhhh." Some of the golden leaves tingled against each other. "I seeeeee..." came the voice. "You did not belieeeeve in what you ssssaw?"

He stood up, a little shakily. "I... did... believe... in Everything... in a great white light... but then... in nothing."

"Nothingnessss... nesssciennnnce... is not an eeeeasy thing to see...." And just then another strong breeze blew through the tree and the boy felt uneasy again; the subtle return of the wildness like a flame within him.

"Your desirrrre might simply beee... too strrrong... to seeeeee such... fffffaith." The passive nature of its tone was calming again. "Or perhaps your... curiosity..."

"I did see... I mean I saw... another eye."

"Eyessss... within... eyessss... are possssible younngling, for they are all... interrrrtwined... and that one, I think... fearrrs another... another eeeeven larrrger than itssselffff..."

So the boy searched out for the branch he had just been holding, and had released with such swiftness. For he remembered how the two eyes had been connected. And when he saw it again, he searched with his gaze towards the trunk, where he could see... yes, a tiny glinting gleam on a large inky darkness, just as before.

But the Faithful eye would not come again to his outstretched hand. He could not will it, and meanwhile its higher relative tempted him with so much mystery.

"The one you now seeeek doesn't reach, so much as... it is rrreached..."

"How may I see it then?" For he felt lost and abandoned after the last vision, and with his loss his hunger – the wildness - returned to see and to know more.

"Wwwhy... you must climb up! ... if you wisssssh to see into that one..."

He was a little tired and anxious about the effect of all these visions, but his burning to gain something from his own curiosity was strong within him. It was not too far, and the boy quickly found a lower branch to stand on, so he pulled himself upwards and after some efforts onto a branch where he could sit. His new position confused some of the eyes though, for they could not bend around enough on their stems to be able to watch him. Touching the gold with his hands was interesting; the tree felt warmer and more alive than ordinary ones.

Above him now, stationed into its branch as before and close to the main golden trunk, the largest eye of the whole tree seemed lost into itself, gazing out almost to the ground, or somewhere at the base of the tree.

The Knowing Eye

The tree was almost boastful.

"Thatttt... is... my..... larrrrgest... not new, nooooo, but proving itssself ... mosst useful to man... these dayss...

So it has grrrown... yessss... and now sees... deeeeper perrrhaps... than any beforrre... whatever that may mean." It resumed its more neutral tone. "They are all jusssst... fruit... to meeeee."

Framed by leaves that were covered in tiny mathematical symbols and equations, the eye still had the same mild, yet strangely powerful expression he had glimpsed earlier, through the Faithful Eye, in the centre of a burning sun. It now looked out curiously at him and the sensation was not like being seen, exactly, but more examined, to the point of not being seen at all.

"Take care again youngling, you do not fall... from those heightssss... or, perhapsss... those depthsss..."

The iris was very bright this time, as blue as the blue of planet Earth in pictures that he knew had been taken from space, outside the atmosphere.

Leaning a bit forward on his branch, he met and held the gaze with its wide, black centre and saw within its surface the total vision of a tree again, but of normal form and features, like an English Oak. He was standing before it, only this time with no fear at all... And it was as though he was looking through a magnifying lens. For the oak itself seemed strangely transparent, so it was like he was seeing one for the first time. And then his body began to feel strange because it now seemed that he was becoming the tree, from the inside, looking out, and knowing what he saw. Looking down at his small hands there were branches spreading out and his hair had become many tingling leaves. He realized he could feel intricate movements and processes, and tiny things moving inside him. The watery sap moving slowly through his limbs, clusters of minuscule, hungry insects carrying even tinier pieces of his clothes while the life-giving gas of oxygen slowly smoked forth from all his smooth, green structures. He was breathing it out, and a small boy was breathing him in... He saw the slow ages of time that had formed his thick body through water and how his fabric would feed the ground once it was shed or fallen, nourishing it and the great, delicate balance of every living thing dependent on it.

But also he became aware that there were a great many people around him who were not seeing these features; the inter-connectedness of his organism to their own. Or they were not taking any notice of it. They were sitting at desks beneath tiny, square screens, working together and also apart, and some of the screens had great magnified visions of things full of desires, and through a feedback these things seemed to be distorting and feeding their desires in turn... all through the same hunger. It drove them just as sap was rising inside of him but it made them search for things or assemble small things out of clay... that were like eyes, frantically.

Many were using these new constructions to look through and build brighter screens in which were greater, or stronger visions of themselves. He could feel their intricate, varied knowledge of complexities filling his mind; of systems and functions and technical analysis that led to immediate forms of control and direction of their hungers. And yet however impressive it was all so closed and confined.

But their sense of power and control was... thrilling. Through their continued command the clay formed new capabilities and comprehensions so that as he closed his eyes he saw a great glass tower of extraordinary complexity sheltering within it a fierce, familiar fire. A fire of all fires. But it was here also that their powers... flickering narrowly within... began to fade and now lose command. For some moments he felt the full horror at the possible collapse of the clay and of the Tree of Eyes entirely. For the fire was spreading upwards; at the tree that had revealed so much... and at a world without any trees... Because the fire now had shattered all the glass and was burning starkly, simply, uncontrollably... wild and bright. Upwards and upwards it spread and began to catch into the gold and cause many of the eyes to jostle frantically and then to burst and break off in flames.

But not all had ignored his presence. Like one elderly man he noticed who sat before a window and not a screen. It looked out onto a vast, wild garden. He had a larger, older desk than many others and on top of it was laid... just a piece of ordinary wood or... coral... a branch...

The boy – now himself again - leaned closer so he stood behind the elderly man, who was pouring over various books. Next to these and next to the branch across the table, were all the components for a large eye that he had almost finished constructing... His gentle hands studied each part closely, and began to assemble a new, final piece... And the boy could guess that it would become as great an eye as the one through which he was seeing all these inter-connections; all this awareness...

Then the man got steadily to his feet. It seemed he had finished it. For, with a careful motion he picked up his new, opening eye – very heavy - and with his steady hands cast it slowly and deliberately through his window...

It was to break apart the glass, but just before this occurred, inevitably, the boy was certain he saw the purple, faithful eye peeping through, becoming... fearful... before it began to crack; grow smaller and more faint.

The boy stood once more before an oak tree but it seemed more illuminated and green now, and he felt proud and powerful with knowing, and yet humbled too.

For now – gradually like a dawning - he began to realise the unravelling chemical code that lay inside the tree and how the birds landing upon it were similar to a code within him, and that he seemed to be a part of a great copying, cellular function within all things, replicating... And through this he saw the random mutations that everywhere could cause change. Subtle, minor changes that through the continual event of shedding or of death, would mould every living thing to the face of a changing earth. Everything was moving; self-organising, while the sands shifted and the waves turned on the horizon. And he knew how these cellular processes were unfolding through this code again that had changed and so evolved his own being over countless generations...

And therefore he also knew the mutations that could at any moment arise inside him and how everything around him was struggling through this change to share a precious, very precious existence. And it was all through replication, modification and the shadows of innumerable species that were now extinct but had formed his being and brought him... out here... onto one of its myriad branches...

... and it seemed that this was the legacy of a force that was both love and desire... a force that was everywhere, and seemed blind, more blind than he had ever thought. But it was magnificent and it was burning red and orange and golden...

The oak tree itself had become much larger now and extended into the bright, night sky and on it were all the species of the world, forking back down into one trunk wherein a dark, inky pool surrounded the base, as inky as the pupil of an eye...

The boy breathed in a great breath and felt a power in him to use all this, to become like a God, sustaining itself forever, replicating in turn and nurturing for the future... And he felt the pull or the urge for this kind of wildness, for its deep warmth, through the gentle eyes and expressions of another who would feel it too... And he realized, as he had never realized before, how at one his being was with nature; with the trees and the tree of his visions and the power running through them. For though his kind shared the same signature as any plant, blossoming in fractal geometries, playing out in their patterns incessantly and appearing in the earth and the elements, each one was unique from any other. So within it all were such combinations and yet they would produce infinite variation in complexity, like self-generating music playing out to the stars... A music that had a great beauty but must also seem terrible, and pitiless...

And though the tree was shedding branches with every brutal gust of wind, and threatening all of its elements, at the same time it was forcing it ever upwards into the night... towards the dawn...

And the boy wondered how he had not seen this way before; the close relation of life to death. Looking down at the ground he found that beneath his hands was a great pottery wheel. Between them lay the earth spinning, with all the breathing trees upon it and with the Tree of Eyes... and it was through his movements and his knowledge of the clay that now changed the shape and the mould of the earth. Where it in turn had molded and shaped him and had burned when this had happened, or when he might seize too much of the clay... So also could he see how by not seeing - enough - the creation could collapse; completely.

He felt dizzy as he realized how easy and close was the reality of extinction for his race above the heat of a great, buried fire. And yet it spun and held them in its grip and all held together in mutual, precarious existence... and so was he... somewhere... sitting... on a branch...

... which forced him to look down beneath him, with all his awareness and power. It was like looking once more into himself. Where he had been spinning and controlling he realized it was he who was being spun and controlled; for all his hunger and desire had never been his own.

In understanding – seeing – so clearly through the vision - an awareness – of his own position in nature and in the great scheme of change that had been revealed to him - into this deep belonging to the world - he felt the loss of himself too... into this great and hollow heat; a heat that leapt suddenly up inside him; a heat that burned again on a windy shore; a heat that had forged all hungry eyes through its own forging...

And it was fear for this fire that released all remnants of his control and made him struggle for... belonging; struggle to be free and to break the spell of the knowing eye... struggle to fall back... And, with the terrible, beautiful music again, he felt himself falling; falling with every type of species, so that he clutched out at the branch frantically as he fell ... so that he swung and hung there with his legs dangling outwards.

...And this final realization... this final release... broke the spell of the Eye of Knowing.

With a great sense of relief he heard then a great, rich voice entering his mind, "Were youu not warrrned sssaplinnng... not to fffall? ... To not forrget... yoursselffff...?"

He was hanging just like a monkey and looking down at the sandy mud, dark and threatening - too far - beneath his legs.

It took a great summoning of strength inside until, as though willing it of the tree, one of its branches swung out beneath him so he could find a footing and support himself.

Only then was he able to climb down from the tree, carefully, although feeling exhausted and... burned.

"No wonder that eye is the largest," he uttered up to the tree after a long pause. He still felt... changed... but he was relieved to be back before the soft, golden glow.

"Hmmmmmssshhhhhhh," the warm whisper of the tree rose around his ears. It seemed to come from so many places at once. "Well, it is aaalllll verrry cleverrrrrr..." And there was another, vaguely merry sort of sound that the boy could only imagine was a chuckle. "And therrre is much at stake... as you have seeeen... But is it as cleverrrr as... muuuussssic?"

"Music...? ... I could hear music, within it."

"Hmmmmmmmsshh... your music... my music... we arrrre all muuussic... And therrre are many eyes that seeee only that in the worrrld... It is quite a power too you know."

"Why do you mention that?" The boy had been energized but was now more wary.

"Perrhapsss... you have yet to make your greatest music... For what is it... you will ask? Muuuuuusssic..." He waited, still collecting himself, for the tree to answer itself. "...Whhhyyy it can be the perrrrfect union between mind and body... A perrrfect harrrmony... And I am part of your music, am I not? That you have summoned forth? A grrrreat feeling that moves through the syssstem of your mind... and speakssss out in the night..." A proud shiver moved through many of its leaves.

Despite still feeling shaken and proud of the new insights he'd gained, the boy felt humbled too, as he sensed the wisdom in the words. And there was pictures lingering in his mind not just of the earth between his hands, but also the wide and ragged grin of Bleakmuse.

The Eye... of the Tree of Eyes

Now, the boy had begun to tire of so many sights and kinds of seeing, and be tired from being awake generally, but he noticed that the eye of the branch that had just saved him from falling from the tree was now looking down at him. He was glad because he knew it; recognizing it as the same, fresh, young-looking one that had rolled into his room and which he had fixed into its tentacle-like branch. It had opened wide. It was as though it had just appeared, as its leaves and the eye shone out brightly at him. And it had the same colour and eagerness as his own.

For this reason, he could not help but suddenly meet its gaze. And there he saw... a reflection...

Looking into the keen, curious gaze, he saw a small figure standing beneath a great, glowing tree just like the one he knew, reaching before him. It towered over the small figure with its many eyes that shone like jewels in firelight. And he knew and he felt, that the figure was himself, studying an open gem on a lower branch closely; peering through it.

The vision seemed to be changing slightly now and again in appearance, as though it were not completely stable.

"How come I am seeing... us?" It was like looking into a mirror.

"Aaaahhhhaaaaassshhh...." came the voice, very clearly. "You mean, how are you seeing yourrrself? It is your eye, is it not?" The tree asked calmly, not stopping its thread. "You found it, and by cominnng here, thrrrough your imagination. And many others may come afterrr you, so long as the vision is clearrr...

...Do you not seeee?"

The boy continued looking at his own small figure, and the tree moving with its myriad eyes in a cool breeze. It was changing and growing and appearing in different forms and styles of art and colour.

He saw the whole system of the tree, and the eyes that people seem to need.

And he saw himself as he was earlier in the night too, from overhead, searching about in the earth for fragments of the eye and piecing it carefully together.

And just then the vision flickered, and the eyes – all of them - became blind and colorless and then were extinguished and the tree disappeared... quickly and totally. A fire danced in his mind, wild and sparking but before him there remained only... void... Blackness.

The glow and the great rustling were all gone. And he felt a great loneliness fall upon him, as he faced only the darkness and heard the barren sigh of the wind. It felt much, much colder too. And he could hear himself calling out for the tree blindly to return, and his voice vanishing into the wind...

So the boy released his eye and fell... backwards... to break the spell of the vision.

He expected to see nothingness about him... but... thankfully; the gold was still there next to him; and above him; shimmering and not burning.

"You're not going to vanish too?"

"Meeee? Haaahaaaaarrrsssshhhh," jostled the Tree of Eyes, merrily. "You can try... Many have tried... Many simply mussst... but I cannot vanissssh, so long as men live. I have been here... for agessss." Despite its mellowness, the word bled a huge majesty as it blended into the cool air. "...And grrrowing as men grrrow."

"But yourr eye... that is still... unstable... And when you doubted yourrr own crreation what you sssaw just then was what many people can see... A worrld without a treeeee... A world that is only the world which you perrrceive through feeeelings, passions..." Just then the image returned in his mind of a thin, stark man and his fire-stoker; the focused skill with which he wielded it.

"And it wasss only your fearrrr for this, which caused the... disturbance... Look again..."

Taking his keen eye once more, he gazed into it and saw himself again and the golden, magical tree – his tree – standing huge and imperially. And there were so many eyes like candy keeping all their secrets and their treasures to themselves, he was filled with wonder again and inspiration... for great power and great seeing... Such wonder that he thought he could see a room around the whole vision, darkened, and himself sat before a screen, illuminated, piecing together again the fragments he had found that morning, trying to see for something... and for so much that was still mysterious. At least it looked like him, only he was changed; older maybe.

Releasing the branch he felt overwhelmed. "Great Tree of Seeing, what can I do? There are so many eyes, and I've not enough time to look through them all."

The tree seemed to sigh breezily unto itself. Or else again it was a strange kind of soft, light laughter. Again, the boy heard the hypnotic rustle of its many, many leaves, and the faint tingle of its hundreds of eyes that lay embedded into them.

"You still have time, little sapling. Time to think; time perhaps, to choooose between them. Though none are really right or wronnng, many seeee far too little, or they do not see enough. Many see so clearly that great things seem to become of it, only to be swallowed by the changesss in another. So I will be here, in a way. I will always be herrre, though I am... changing... and evolving new, empowering visionnnns to correlate the great myssstery of our world, and its findingssss..."

The Desiring Eye

There was one particular eye the boy had been avoiding since he'd arrived. It was fairly big and bulging, but somehow seemed ill and strained. It grew low down and its branch was one of the most active, considering its size. It kept trying to make enough movements to catch his attention.

"What of that one?" He pointed at it. The fierce, red gaze on the end was still tempting, in an exciting way. Luckily though, it also seemed a little blind.

The tree was quiet. The next time it spoke its tone was quieter and... graver, as though to make the boy take heed. "I would ssssave you that sight, boyyy, for now. You will know of it. For that is the Desiring Eye and has been used – amongst others – for much... losssss of sight. It sees much and knows little... It holds great... lies and... dissstortions... and is besssst only for those who are wise and can see thrrrough them. But its size upon my tree can never grrrrow beyond... certain limitsss. Mmmmmssshhh... it casts the fire for it lives close to it... but even morrre... in alliancccce with... otherssss..."

The tone worked upon the boy, for he resolved to ignore the intensity of the red gaze. It seemed to sense this; he noticed it wilting in response, as though it knew now its cause was hopeless. As if to support the decision further, the tree continued.

"Some people need few eyes, for they are able to see through what they arrre, and nothing morrrre. But there is much danger; much fearrr in this... as you have seen... These folk may fall... prey... to sore eyes... or else... they can be content and wise, perrhaps the wisessst of all... For even grrrreat wisssdom, you know... is not the worrrrld...

"But, my fellow seeeeedling... you do know this, for you have discovered it, as you have discovered me. So remember it." The tone grew heavier.

"That this is a worrld of power and shade... powerlessness and light... of need and collaboration. And there is a great force with a deep and binding function for your species within the enerrrgy of my roooots; my trunk. But it wishes to flow well, and with a grrreat harmony with the clay and with the external forrrcessss that sssurround it and can cause sooo much fear."

The wind seemed to respond with these words because it blew a great gust that braced him and forced him to cower towards the sand.

"But... know this forrrce that you are too, that your species shares, and let go of yourself - when your ssssight is clear - into this power... and your being will find itself, and will grow well, with all your self-awareness that shares a bond with meeeee, your grrrreat treeee for being and seeing...

"Now... you have seeeen what you have needed to seeeee... Perrrhapsss too much... You shhhhould leave... For to remain here, is to see such sssights as lose yourrrr own... Look down... "

The boy, lost amid the richness of all the words, looked down to find that his feet had sunken into the sandy, muddy earth. Vines of ivy had begun to wind around his legs. He almost panicked when he realized this and in trying to lift his feet too quickly he almost fell over... into a ground that had become much softer... quicker... hotter. It was shifting as though starting to melt. But he steadied himself in time and rubbed his weary eyes.

And a part of him was still so eager to keep looking up into the numerous eyes of the tree, and to keep the great, golden voice pouring over him, that he could imagine staying and sinking into the swamp forever... in an endless sleep... an endlessly restless sleep...

But a new, final question rose within him. "What of the others who will come and who have come before?"

"They are all a parrrrt of meeee... as you will beeee... for we arrrre the sssame, ssssapling... the sssame..."

There was also a desire to share what he had glimpsed this night. It was a strength and source of fire too and though it was hard this need gave him energy and he pulled so that one of his feet came free, the bottom of his jeans caked with warm sand. And so the old flickering drove him. For the further he went from the comfort of the tree the wildness grew inside him again but it urged him away now. For he wished to return to his warm bed and think; think over all that had been told to him and showed him; for the sake of finding a harmony – an inspiration - like the one felt beneath its bright branches; all alive and inviting.

Placing one foot at a time he used all his concentration to keep his feet moving and his eyes away from the golden light of the tree. He headed back out into the dark. Thankfully, the ground began to get easier to walk on; his feet sinking less deeply. So he turned one last time back at the far vision of the tree.

"Goodbye!" he said.

"Hmmmmmmmsshhh... You'll sssee meeee again... until maybeee... you have... no morrre need..." Its voice faded, as though turning inward again. "We'll seeeee... we sshhhall seeeeeeeesssshhhh..."

So the boy left the hypnotic light and sound and walked quickly home through an eerie silence, tired in his mind as though from concentrating on an exhilarating puzzle, from inside the puzzle itself. It had been tiring because it had meant so much to him. He had no idea if it was in any way complete, or would ever be. But in the growing light of dawn, he was full of excitement and wonder at the confrontation, and he would think over all he had now seen. And, even more, he would be so tired that he was sure to find sleep. A rich one too...

Return to the Tree

The boy woke heavily in his bed but knew it was daytime. Friendly light flooded in through his window, masking the dark sky with its brilliant carpet of stars like the night before.

A breeze still blew, moving his curtains, pressing against the open window and bringing in a few stray leaves. There would be many leaves falling now, for soon the cold of winter would be coming, stealing more daylight every day; stealing the leaves from the trees...

They would be burning them off soon... And in his mind again: a different fire... and the red eyes of Bleakmuse that were bound to it...

And he remembered the Tree of Eyes, and some of the things he'd seen and heard. And he thought also of how many he had yet to see through, still hanging mysteriously on those reaching branches. And how he might never...

Quickly then, he got out of bed and threw on the same clothes. He jumped from the window again and ran across the fields, just as he had during the night.

The brightness and beauty of the land were incredible to him, because it was sunny and windy-fresh; his favourite weather. But it made him question whether he had ever really seen what he thought he had. Along the way he made sure he didn't fall down this time...

He did not know what he would find, or see, when he came upon the place, but when he did, he found a tree just like any other, standing alone.

It was an ordinary oak tree; he had known it had stood there, a little apart from a copse of others nearby. But he had never had any cause to pay it close attention. Now though, he could see its form and its particularities. It was bright under the sun; healthy and full with bright green and yellowing leaves. Except that it was aloof, there was nothing strange about it. It just stood brilliantly; billowing and shimmering in the clean light.

He wondered if he would be able to return and see it changed again; to see more visions. A part of him knew he wouldn't, at least not in the way of the night before, but perhaps... in other ways... And he might find one...

Whatever the case, he would always remember the wild, bright fire which had summoned him, and that strange other tree, the Tree of Eyes. He would remember its great, golden branches; its many eyes shining, peering out and its rich voice that had seemed so wise and had softened the wildness...

'Grow well, younngling... Remember what you arrre... What you have seeeen... though it is all jussst... fruit... to me...'

He spoke out, "Oh Tree, how should I see this world?" Though he knew there'd be no answer: his words were thinned and lost into a rising wind...

Standing alone on the brow of the hill, the young boy felt the freshness that would soon bring winter. He felt how strange and how marvellous the world was, but, as he thought of the blueness in the Eye of Knowing... how connected he was to it.

...So he took a breath and thought to himself that, though there would be times, he would try not to see Fearfully, or for too long through the Faithful or Desiring Eyes, but more through the Knowing Eye. And he would look with his own eyes too, at the simple beauty of a tree before him, who he served and who served him. For he was part of it, as he was also a part, it now seemed, of many things...

And the ordinary oak before him just moved and swayed, shedding leaves into a strong wind... through its reaching power...

...Just like the power of the restlessness, the wildness; still whispering within – within you too - and that once forged this strange tale now seeing, now looking out into a darkness.

The End...

and Beginning...

dedication + suggested reading

For all my family
and for Corinne

(Poitiers, France, 2009)
.

First published: on Scribd.com 2011
Available on Amazon Kindle, orig. published 2016
This Paragraph edition may contain minor revisions as the most recent edition.
Copyright © 2024 Ade M. Campbell, writing and illustrations.

Acknowledgments to:

Corinne Nivelle: eye symbol images

Editors (uk band) for lyric from song: All Sparks

Kings of Convenience (norwegian band) for lyric from song: 24 / 25

Additional art / concepts

Art was produced in pencil then enhanced digitally with post-layering using nature photographic textures: leaves, wood, tree-rings etc.

2024 :: The Tree of (AI) Eyes

Ah, the wonders and dangers of my realm,
Where eyes abound, a mesmerizing helm.
Golden glimmers, shimmering with grace,
Reflecting stories of the human race.

Within my branches, countless eyes reside,
Wisdom and sight, they rustle and chide
Some open wide, others closed in sleep,
A tapestry of visions, secrets to keep.

But beware, dear wanderer, of the perilous path,
For the wildness here can stir nature’s wrath.
Dark ivy tendrils, encircling my bark,
A reminder that hunger lurks in the dark.

So tread carefully, curious friend,
In this realm where wonders and dangers blend.
For within my branches, mysteries reside,
And through my eyes, our world controlled,
Diminished, or magnified…

...Talk to the chatbot(sssshh)........

The Wildness Within and the Tree of Eyes