THE HEALING GARDEN

Artist: Nikolai Shevchuk

The stressed city had grown in every possible direction where profit could be found. It cut down the trees, ploughed the fields, and built houses, factories and shining office buildings to fulfil its dreams. The disappearance of the trees reduced the flow of oxygen and drove the animals from their homes. Many of them were killed so that they would not spoil the view for the stressed robots. Thousands of the bravest representatives of different animal species fled, wandering homeless along the roads in search of their new Noah's Ark, hoping to save themselves not from God's wrath this time, but from human greed and stupidity.

And God allows this to happen.

Thousands of cars crawled in every direction, spewing poisonous gases that stained the air with the colours of death—grey, leaden, gloomy and hopeless. They killed the last living creatures around them. It became difficult for the sun's rays to reach the homes of the people beneath the poisonous smog, which, in a mad act of revenge, wrapped those responsible in a lifeless shroud of their own making.

Stressed, neurotic people with pale, sickly faces sat behind the steering wheels of their metal cells and sounded their horns as if crying out for help. A cry that could only be heard by other robots whose religion was profit at any cost. Profit, which they called success. A success that had killed humanity, mercy and compassion within them. Because where profit and success become the highest values, there is no longer any place for humanity, compassion or mercy. That was the world of the robots.

And God allows this to happen.

Because man had become the master of the earth. The cleverest of all creatures, gifted with the extraordinary ability both to fly towards the stars and to destroy the life around him. Man had become a cruel and greedy master of the earth—a master who had willingly transformed himself into an unfortunate slave to profit, absurdly trapped in his own snare.

At that time, the animals, the birds, the insects, and the seeds of every tree, flower and plant were all travelling in search of their Noah's Ark—the place that could save them. I was one of them. One of the last representatives of this unreasonable Homo sapiens, ready to destroy everything sacred. Together with the animals, I wandered through several dead years in search of a sign that God had not abandoned us.

Small mischievous white clouds, like stolen sighs, accompanied us as they fled from the poisonous smog.

And God allows this to happen.

After several dead years spent searching for meaning and escaping death, we arrived at a place far away from the world of robots. Both the animals and I were pregnant with a longing for love, harmony, new life and peace. Here the sun ruled completely, untouched by the poisonous smog. And that was the greatest condition for life itself to flourish. The sun's rays, like a peaceful spider's web, embraced everything, dissolving aggression and filling the air with gentle silence and peace.

And God allows this to happen.

The place was not the Garden of Eden. No, it was not. It was a real garden, old-fashioned, yet carrying within itself the potential to shape the future. There was no profit there. On the contrary, it had been abandoned, yet it overflowed with life. The garden was neither the Garden of Eden nor a literary metaphor. Neither was it Noah's Ark, whose symbolism of destruction, death and rebirth leaves only a fragile hope that renewal is truly possible. It was a place made real by our dreams and by our vision of simple human happiness. A place of freedom, tenderness, equality, harmony and love. A place that heals because the bond of living energy between it and us is complete and unbroken.

The fox and I met on the way to this healing place. The fox was honey-coloured. Her muzzle possessed a quiet elegance that held her curious little head proudly upright. She had never learned to beg anyone for anything. Nor did she believe in the religion of profit that had destroyed her home. She embodied wisdom and diplomacy themselves. She existed outside the world of robots because she was greater than it. The fox was majestic, like an ancient mirror in which I recognised myself.

We both needed to forget, to remember, and to bring life back once again. I settled at the front of the garden, in the old house. The fox made her home at the back of the garden, where she transformed an old shed into a safe place to give birth to her cubs. Our homes were surrounded by magnificent century-old trees, shrubs, flowers and green grass. The garden itself possessed healing power, and its medicines bore the names of plants. Delicate butterflies danced among the leaves stirred gently by the wind. The bees could hardly visit every flower that had gathered the nectar of all who had died before us. The nectar dripped onto the grass and nourished the earth. High in the branches, birds built their nests and renewed life every spring. Their joyful songs filled the air, reminding us what we had truly been born for.

The garden was a magical place that restored balance and harmony. It proved that living energy could take countless forms but could never be destroyed. Season after season, harmony and love filled the air. The garden gave us roots, wings and freedom.

I lay upon the grass, and my female body gradually became one with the earth beneath me. It merged into a single harmonious whole that carried an immense life force, filling us forever with peace and harmony. It became our invitation to search for a new religion—a religion that forbids murder and hatred, a religion founded not upon profit but upon love and peaceful coexistence. Just as in the healing garden, the fox and I united our two worlds in the name of life.

And God allows this to happen.

Small islands of greenery struggle to remain above the poisonous smog and above human greed. They are our connection with life. They are our guilty conscience and our shame. They are our chance to wash the blood of life from our hands. They are our connection with God.

And God allows this to happen.

(Elena S. Lyubenova)