I have seen a land where gold grows on trees. I passed through this place, hidden away deep in a tropical forest in the state of Roraima in the eastern most part of Brazil. My small band of explorers were seeking the ruins of Pedra Pintada and on our 500 kilometer journey from Boa Vista, we passed through a small village which did not appear on our maps. When we first entered the village a short time before sunset, we thought it deserted but soon learned the improbable truth.
Being only 750 kilometers from the equator, the village was bathed in brilliant sunlight from our solar system’s life giving star. Typically the inhabitants of these lands adapt, developing skin pigmentation that protected them from the bombardment of the sun. However, according to the natives we met, a new development two generations ago altered the relationship between the people and Sol.
Somehow, be it changes in the water supply, or the air or soil composition, the trees which surrounded and framed each home in the village began to produce a nugget of gold instead of a flower from each bud. The villagers noted the dramatic change quickly, since the golden nuggets reflected the harsh intensity of the sun and multiplied its effect tenfold. As the first villagers scaled the trees to pluck the gold, they were permanently blinded and fell back to their homes for protection. They were safe indoors from the golden attack and so each day that is where they remained. But at night, they ventured from their abodes and climbed the trunks of their new benefactors, pulling the gold from the branches and depositing it into any carrying vessel they possessed. Before each dawn, they hurriedly carted their treasures into their homes to avoid the harmful reflection of the sun. Deep in dark basements they hid the gold, away from any light of day.
Soon the villagers learned that this phenomenon would be repeated each blooming season, so long as they carefully twisted the gold out of the tender stalks, leaving them able to reproduce. After years of acquisition, every villager possessed such wealth that even the Rockerfellers, Fords and Hearsts of this world would have experienced awe and envy. Yes, they were beyond wealthy as the gold accumulated day after day, week after week, and year after year.
But their good fortune (dare one say great fortune) ensnared them as mightily as it enriched them. Since they were unable to travel with their gold to locales that would facilitate its exchange for the trappings of wealth, or even to convert it to lighter, less dangerous paper currency, their monetary fortunes grew but their lives stagnated. Hiding in their homes by day and using every minute of nightfall to harvest more and more gold, they lived repetitive, empty lives. Yes, they could have fled the village, but since the surrounding land was desert terrain with no shade available for several days travel, they would make a choice to leave behind their treasure if they departed. Not a single villager had ever made this choice. So they made do with the meager possessions which had been handed down from three generations previous, before the miracle of the trees.
They were the ultimate paradox, a land of rich paupers, but they were happy nonetheless as their satisfied lust for wealth sustained them.
We departed the village, never to return. I believe we departed richer men than those we left behind, but that is for each man to judge for himself
Write Brain 