Try to think in a grander way, the guru said, eyes clad in smoke, not to peddle cheap ideas on the street, struggling to sell, but learn to wait. There is no telling what you might hear if you just sit still. A tongue eager to tell its tales, fight against it, every day, wage a war of independence, against the tyrant between your ears.
One by one my false visions will come to you, offering greater and greater gifts. Reject them all, let your hair stand on end, fingers trembling. Then, the sweetest, the truest vision, will be yours. You were searching for the ultimate past, one that would explain the depth of your roots, but there was none.
Born and raised in a glass of water, rootless, do you have any less right to live than the old oak, are you not worthy of love, did you not come with a promise, or have you forgotten?
Do you see now that you and I have always been? Do you know hunger, deprivation and need, or are you perfect, infallible? You were never truly born, nor will you ever cease to be. Today, put food on the table, that is your truth. Tomorrow, we will talk about greater things.
Let yourself be left speechless, storyteller, press your dreams hard against your chest, as life brings landfall and headache, cry when you fall, but never doubt that I love you immensely. When your toys break, and they will, I, like a good Mother, will buy you new ones.
Until you no longer want them.