A Garden's Tale

Atop the mountain sits a beautiful garden, whose flora are cultivated with the finest crafts of the finest hands, whose fountain is carved from the loftiest rock and flows the liquid of a crystalline shine. The nectar of the garden shall taste the sweetest, and the dew of the garden shall cure the illness of the worst. The sun coats the garden with limitless warmth, and the Milky Way breeds the garden from borderless beyond. When the garden sprouts, lives emerge, pure and adored; when the garden blooms, lives thrive and grow. And the lives are granted the most elegant appearance, and the lives are blessed with the mind of the most wisdom. Inside the holy garden sits the garden keeper, who seeks through every of its soil and dust, who hears from shivering of leaves to drip of water. But his omniscience will not foresee the visions of the forthcoming; his clairvoyance is ultimately obstructed by the border of the time. Until the very moment of the arrival, the garden keeper will never be aware of the day of revelation.

The day of the revelation, the ending of the time; the revival of all bygones, the judgement of the divine. By the time the garden will be devastated: blossoms will wither, and evergreens will blight; marbles will crumble, and water will be soiled. Ruins of the great past have kept none of its traces; all left is but a poor keeper with his inner cry. “Who is raiding my garden? Once it keeps treasures, nectars of the wise. Now the water is blacked with filth, poisoning what it once nourished with care. Who is ruining my garden? Once lively vines would climb to columns of marble. Now the columns fall apart; its weight crushes what it once supported. Visions of tragedy have occupied my sight. Dark fogs have blurred the far lands of lights. For countless seasons have I stayed in this sanctuary; where hence will I be belonged to? Should the fire of the apocalypse burn in the garden of beauty, I shall resist it from invading the depth of mine.”

The year’s train has arrived at the white station of the white hall, of which white fogs stretch above the ceaseless track in white. And the light of endlessness is bestowed upon every particle of the air, and the air is white: colorless pale, lifeless glow. And the train has arrived at the crossroad of time; the train leads toward far and farther away. May you walk onboard the endless train and find the state of constancy among thousands and more. Perpetual dream, heavenly ascension. Be thankful, for that the Omniscient will bless you the sight of all-new. Be grateful, for that the Omnipotent will grant you the strength of breakthrough. Children of the great garden, crafts of the nature’s force. Manifestation of the revelation, dawn of a new beginning. The train shall take you, my friend, past the times of the old. For once and the last, cast your sight on the cherished and the disgusted, for all will be buried by the ruins of the garden. May the great saints of the stars protect you across this journey, and I shall wait at the terminus of the far.