The Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

Once upon a time there was a beautiful garden in which all of the trees bore rich fruit every month. There were flowers of every color and scent imaginable. The earth itself was a rich dark brown, and the grass was a soft as feathers.

In the midst of this garden was a single poisonous tree. This tree did not look any different than any of the other trees in the garden. Indeed, its fruit was just as beautiful as all of the other trees’ fruit. Its branches were just as strong as all of the other trees’ branches. The leaves provided shade as cool and delicious as all of the other trees’ shade. But this tree alone could kill you.

One day, a young man was walking in the garden and he found that he was hungry. Looking around him, he saw the beautiful flowers and felt the soft grass, but he found no fruit-bearing tree of which to partake. He continued walking in the garden until he came upon a grand tree. It was great and tall, and its sturdy branches were burgeoning with delicious fruit. The young man, famished, ran up to the tree and began to eat of the fruit that was on it. It wasn’t until after he had consumed the fruit of this tree that he realized that it was the only tree in the garden that would bring death and destruction.

When he realized what he had done, he began to panic. What could he do to stave off the inevitable death that was coming? He must seek advice, find a solution from others who had gone before him! Quickly, he ran to the nearest village and asked the elders and the wise men of the community what he should do.

One elder said, “Why did you eat of that tree? You should have known better. Everyone knows that if you eat of that tree, you shall die.”

A second man said, “I know of a man who ate three fruit from that tree, and he died weeping and bemoaning his fate.”

Another man shook his head sadly, saying nothing.

Finally the crowd that had formed around the young man parted, letting the high man of the village through. He was older than anyone in the village. His beard was long and grey. His eyes were surrounded by wrinkles. He did not smile, but neither did he lament. “Why don’t you try returning to that tree and eating more of its fruit?”

The first elder nodded, and the second man shrugged his shoulders, but gave way to the wise elder. The young man was bemused. “But sir,” he said respectfully, “how can eating the fruit of the same tree that will kill me now help me to live?”

The high man of the village looked down upon the young man and spoke, “It is tradition. This is what my father and his father said to do when the fruit of the poisonous tree was consumed. The only way to possibly survive is to continue to eat of that fruit. You must consume it every day, for every meal, or you will surely cease to live.”

The young man didn’t understand, but he had no better alternative, so he ran back to the beautiful garden and found the poisonous tree and picked all the fruit he could carry. He took the fruit back to his house and began to prepare it in such a way that it would be edible, for he had already discovered that the fruit did not taste as good as it appeared.

The young man continued to eat the fruit of the poisonous tree for many weeks, making his daily trek to the garden to gather as much fruit as he could. Others looked upon him as he trudged back and forth from the garden to his home, and he began to feel ashamed. Surely they all knew what a fool he had been to consume the fruit of the poisonous tree. Perhaps they were all judging him as harshly as he judged himself.

No longer did the garden seem beautiful to the young man. His eyes were closed to the magnificent color of the flowers. He no longer stopped to take off his shoes to feel the feathery grass. His breath was labored from all of his walking and carrying, so he did not take the time to inhale the sweet-smelling fragrances of the flowers. His life became focused on a his task: get the fruit, get it home, prepare it, and eat.

After many years of this, the man—who was no longer quite so young—came upon a young lady as he was harvesting the fruit of the poisonous tree. “What are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

The man was ashamed. He hadn’t had to explain his predicament in years. She must be new to the area, to not know of him and his folly. “I must eat this fruit every day, or I will surely die.”

“But sir,” the young lady said, “that is the poisonous tree! Everyone knows that if you eat of the poisonous tree, you will die. How can you say, ‘I must eat this fruit daily, or I will die?’”

“Many years ago, I was walking in this garden enjoying my day. I found myself quite hungry, and I did not stop to think of which tree I was eating. I ate one of these fruits and I knew I had made a horrible mistake. I ran to the village and the wisest of the elders told me that I must eat this fruit every day, or I would surely die. That was many years ago now, and I have done as he has said. And look! I am still alive.”

“Sir,” said the young lady. “I have observed you for many days now. You trudge every day from the village to this garden. You do not smile at the children playing. You do not inhale the fragrant aromas of the flowers. You do not run your fingers over the feathery grass. You seem to have no joy in life. Truly, you are as dead as you claim to be alive. How could you ever have thought that eating the same fruit from the tree that would kill you could then bring you to life?”

The man was flabbergasted. He had not stopped to consider his life in a very long time. So focused had he been on obtaining the fruit so that he would live, that he had forgotten about his life itself.

“But what alternative have I?” he lamented. “I cannot do anything other than eat of this tree! If I stop doing it, I shall have less of a life than what I even have now. Yet, you are right when you say that I do not enjoy my life. What shall I do?”

“Stop eating this fruit,” said the young lady. “For the possibility of future death cannot be worse than the death in which you are living. Besides, I see no wisdom in eating poisonous fruit in order to keep from being poisoned to death.”

“That did always seem strange to me,” the man replied. “I only did it because the village elder told me to.”

“I wish I could speak to this elder,” the young woman said, “and understand his counsel.”

“He is long dead,” said the man.

“You mean you are still taking advice about living from a man who has truly died?” said the young woman, a puzzled frown on her face.

“You suggest that I stop eating this fruit and risk my very life?” the man asked. “What if I die?”

“Indeed,” said the young woman. “What if you live?”

The man considered the question very carefully, remembering his feelings as a young man when he had first heard the counsel of the village high man. He thought about the life he was living. A great fear rose up within him at the thought of letting go of the fruit he had partaken of for so long. Not only that, but he wasn’t sure what his life would actually be like if he didn’t have to spend his days trudging back and forth from the garden carrying great armfuls of fruit. “What if you live?” the young lady whispered again.

Heart racing, the man threw the fruit to the ground, and for what seemed like the first time in his entire life, he stopped to explore the garden he had visited for so long. He had never quite seen a purple so rich. The smell of the honeysuckle was so strong he could almost taste it. Slowly, he bent down and unstrapped his sandals. He ran barefoot through the feathery grass.

The young lady laughed with him, and they had a picnic together with the fruits of other trees. They were lying in the soft grass as the sun began to set, and the man began to feel fear again. He had not eaten of the fruit of the poisonous tree this day, and as the day ended, he wondered if he would end with it.

The night came, filled with darkness and a chill in the air. And the man saw that with it came all the stars in the heavens. Tiny pinpricks of beauty and light in a sea of uncertainty. They guided him home that night as he returned to his village. And in the morning, when he awoke, he began to truly live. Instead of trying with all his might to avoid death, he began to have a relationship with Life Himself.

He became an expert in all things beautiful. He laughed and played with the children of his village. He married his sweetheart, the young lady who had told him that poison could not save you from poison. He began to create beautiful pieces of art that were renowned throughout his village and the surrounding nations. And one day, as he was working, a young man ran into his village. Breathless and terrified, the young man gasped out, “I have eaten the fruit of the poisonous tree! Quickly! Tell me! What must I do to survive?”

All of the elders of the village looked to this man, the maker of such beautiful things, for they had heard his story. “Well,” said the man, “you must simply live.” And he took the young man into his home and told him the story of his Life.