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The Memory Of The Bamboo Tree


A country in the Pacific was invaded and colonized for over four hundred years. Native people have lived and died with a distinct memory worldwide. Once believed to be migrated by Indios, the small country was greatly influenced by conquistadores of the old World. People are living a simple life with no known or recognized religion. Invaders never thought that the said country is rich with natural resources. Invaders as pilgrims of voyage and circumnavigation discovered one simple gold that no other countries ever had much... the spices. Spices for cooking, like onions and garlic, became the principal end of the many returns of the invaders. They discovered how spices were planted and grown on the virgin soil of the conquered. In exchange, the conquerors offered their religion to the silent people of beauty and hospitality. Christianity was born in this small blessed country. For centuries, spices never run out of supply because people of the small world are diligent and harworking enough -- offering everything to everybody of all races for their dining pleasure and for the sake of human survival. When pleasure was felt, greed loomed from the very few capitalistic minds with worldly interests. Trees became the next target after the spices. Trees cannot speak for themselves. Only nature can understand and feel what each tree has to say about everything happening around them. One epitome of life and fate out of the thousand different trees around the world is the story of the bamboo. The death and rebirth of a so called "tree." Many trees lived in different locations, adjusting to varying weather conditions. Different climates in different countries is a major factor too in the survival of each tree that we see around us. Bamboo is distinct because it can live both on land and water. One day, a young boy was walking at the foot of the mountain. While walking, he saw many trees around... almost of the same size, shape and texture of the bark. After several minutes, he spotted a cream-colored tree (somewhat yellowish) near a swamp and was amazed by its skin. The bark is so smooth and quite fascinating. He tried to climb it, but it's slippery. He tried to bend the bark, but it's sturdy. He asked the tree, "Who are you?... What kind of tree are you?... Do you have a name?...". A strong wind swiftly blew around the tree. The young boy was scared and ran away. The other trees are looking at the bamboo tree, smiling. The other trees have seen the young boy many times at the foot of the mountain. All other trees know each other for so long. They talk to each other. And whenever they see humans walking or moving around them, they know the human interest -- either fruits or livelihood. Fruits from trees that keep humans healthy or livelihood for the purpose of human survival other than shelter. The next day, a group of over one hundred male foresters arrived at the foot of the mountain. They carry various tools for cutting and boring with big containers of flammable liquid. Many trees were not surprised. They started bidding goodbyes to each other. On the other side, the bamboo near the swamp saw and felt everything that's happening around. It started to weep because all its friends will be gone very soon. One forester, a "kaingero," said to all his co-workers, "We shouldn't be burning all the trees. Instead use them for human needs. We are all paid to do this work, but it's evil to kill all these trees if we will just burn them into ashes." One of the many co-workers replied, "We are only here to comply, but I believe we can consider what you just said. Fumes from burning trees are detrimental man's health. We should rather cut the trees and distribute them to the fishermen and all poor people living behind this mountain. They can do anything with the woods for survival after we cut all these trees into smaller pieces." And so they did. After all trees are gone from the top of the mountain up to the last standing tree at the foot of the mountain, one worker was left to watch over the fallen trees. This is the same worker and forester who previously suggested his idea. He was assigned there to stay for three days until his other co-workers return with heavy equipments and tractors to flatten the denuded forest. The lone worker stayed in his tent. Early morn the following day, the lone worker walked around in the area. A hundred meters away from the scraped mountain, he saw a bamboo tree standing near a swamp. Nobody saw the said bamboo except himself. He was amazed by its creation. His first time to see one. The bamboo tree grew in many pieces of bark, about five separate ones standing on the same spot. He thought of saving them and bring them home. The best thing he can do for the bamboo tree is keep it after cutting. And maybe if he can grow one with its leaves and stems, he can revive its existence. He kept the leaves and stems in an open plastic bag, filled with some soil and water. The third day when all his other co-workers returned, he asked for permission is he can bring home the pieces of bamboo that he discovered not too far from the foot of the denuded mountain. They said it's okay. The lone worker is not an ordinary forester. He is a horticulturist, organist and a lover of music. He took the big and small pieces of bamboo that he collected and donated them to a church. He discovered that the bamboo sticks he collected are not from a tree, but from a grass. He asked some indigenous people to help him develop an instrument for music out of the bamboo sticks. He went back immediately to the church where he donated the different sizes of bamboo sticks. With the assistance of native musicians and helpers from the flattened and isolated mountains, he invented an organ that can be used and played inside the church for hymns and praises One perfect model and example of a musical instrument made of bamboo is the one that you'll find inside a church in the city of Tambo in the Pacific. The so called "Bamboo Organ." This is a memory of a real good and everlasting tree... the bamboo -- a grass.

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Book: Shattered Sighs