Tree of LIfe

Before I was to journey to Mozambique, I stopped over in London to visit family and friends. During my stop over I met with a Mystic/Poet friend of mine, Mohan Rana. I told him where I was headed and he told me he had written a poem in 2002 about a little girl that was born in a tree during a great flood in Mozambique. The story goes that during the great floods in 2000, a family climbed up a tree to save themselves from drowning. They had no food or water and no ability to contact anyone. Two days went by and one of the family members became so sick from malaria that she let herself fall into the water. A few of the family members caught hold of her and brought her back into the tree and tied her to one of the branches. One the third day she found a way to untie her self and again let her self drop into the water. The family let her go, but soon after this happened the niece of the dead woman began to give birth to a little girl. Literally at the time of her birth an air force rescue helicopter came to the families aid and soon little Rositha was flown to a hospital.

This tree was truly a blessed tree and so my friend asked me if I would try and find it. I agreed to do my best. I arrived in Mozambique and immediately inquired about this tree. The story was somewhat known but I didn’t get a bite until a few weeks later, 3 days before I was to leave to South Africa. A truly enlightened young man some how came across a very clear map to this special place (I didn’t ask questions), and pretty so soon after, I was being driven to the middle of nowhere, to visit this tree.

We drove for hours, journeying back into time, entering a land of farmlands and smoldering fires and women balancing baskets on the heads. The passing landscapes were covered a thin smoke, creating a soft dreamlike quality….a timeless, ageless dream, where people walk in slow motion, (funny enough it reminded me most of being in Northern Romania).

We finally arrived at a small yellow house and my guide went to speak to a man that as near by. A few moments later, out of a shed like house, came a little girl. He brought her to me and introduced her as Rositha, The Girl Born of the Tree. Rositha, her father and her brother then jumped in the back of our truck and began to direct us for another hour, as we drove further and further into the heart of this land (no roads). We were headed for the ‘Tree of Life’.

On the way there I was fantasizing about how glorious and how grand and ‘larger than life’ this tree must be. I was reminded of ‘Indian Jones and the Last Crusade’, where the bad guy is given a test to choose The Cup of Christ out of many cups and chalices. He picks the most beautiful one, the one with most gems and gold, the one fit for a king. He drinks from it and dies. The Cup of Christ was the wooden cup, the cup of a carpenter.

As I passed all these incredible trees I would look back at the family and anticipate them agreeing with me that this was indeed the TREE of LIFE….but no, none were. We journeyed on but then we stopped by a small gathering of huts. I was walked through some shrubs, passing family members on the way, until I came upon a small clearing next to a few huts and then yes we made it… there she stood in all her austere glory.

I stole her spirit and brought her to Hollywood for all to see ….and so the poem continues……