Ivan the Gardener (eBook)

The Sower of Great Seeds

S. A. Tennyson (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
164 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-0897-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Celebrating cannabis and the art of life, Ivan the Gardener tells the story of a journey from the First Man to the Last Man-from courage to wisdom-as Ivan seeks to overcome the mainland's hordes of the many-so-many and the Temple of Doom they toil to ceaselessly construct: denying the individual and his sovereign will to be free. A truly unique book. The first of its kind. 'I come not to raise the dead but the living.' -Ivan

S. A. Tennyson, a native of Atlanta and graduate of the University of Georgia, is a former entrepreneur and businessman who now relishes life as an author. Though the origins of Ivan the Gardener took root in Athens, GA, Tennyson eventually relocated to the Pacific Northwest and completed his first book in Portland, OR-where he discovered what he deems God's greatest gift, cannabis.

Textauszug

Ivan the Conqueror

The tides rose to great heights and collapsed over Ivan, burying him under the weight of the deep blue sea. He’d known nothing but darkness for what seemed like an eternity until, finally—like the waves crashing against distant shores—he was swept into the grasp of a peculiar old man. “Lo!” the old man celebrated. “Lo, good man! What, or whom shall I say, washes up on my great shore? Lo! What have you to say of such good fortune, my dear fellow?” the old man jeered.

Ivan struggled to gain his footing as the old man pulled him from the crashing waves. A twinkle danced in the old man’s eye like a star in the night sky. “Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!” the old man carried on as he frolicked and danced about.

Ivan remembered nothing, however, only that he was born from the turbulent waters and solitude of their depths before his delivery into the outstretched hands of a peculiar old man with a sparkle in his eye. Sharing the old man’s curiosity, he looked similarly back at him. His stomach hurt, and he was nauseous.

Beams of unsuspecting sunlight pierced the veil of a cloud-filled sky as a bright light emerged from below: Ivan the Conqueror.

“Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!” the old man shouted and continued to dance about. “Tell me, friend, what have you to say of such good fortune?”

“I remember only the children, and they were laughing at me in my dream,” Ivan replied. “Yes…and the trees…They were laughing too.”

“Alas, the trees! Yes! The trees are always laughing, my friend…and the children too,” hinted the old man, “but for different reasons. Ivan, you will remember to laugh as the children laugh…and the trees!”

The old man carried on with his exuberance. “Lo! What good fortune, my friend, that I, too, laugh as the children laugh. Lo! And the trees! Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!”

Ivan was somewhat embarrassed by the scene unfolding around him. Still, he took comfort in the old man despite his ridicule until he finally begged the obvious question: “How do you know my name?”

“Ha, ha! Lo! Everyone knows your name. You are Ivan the Conqueror! Yet, as you say, the children are laughing at you. Lo, and the trees too! What a great laugh! Ha, ha! Lo!”

The old man continued to chastise Ivan and revel in his excitement. “Ivan the Conqueror! Here, upon these majestic shores! I am laughing like a child! Ha, ha! Lo! Ha, ha! Lo! A naked and mindless wreck upon my shore, lo!

“Oh Ivan, it’s true. Your reputation precedes you, as it should, yet you dare wash up on my shore a naked and mindless wreck. Ha, ha! Lo! The Conqueror is here! The Conqueror is here! Upon my shores, Ivan the Conqueror is here! Lo! A naked and mindless wreck, Ivan the Conqueror is here! Ha, ha! Lo!

“An army a naked man does not make! Lo! Ha, ha! Now I, too, am laughing with the children! Ha, ha! Lo! Ivan the Conqueror is here! A mindless and naked wreck upon my shore! Glorious! Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!”

The old man continued to laugh, howl and dance freely about the mountainous land until he’d finally exhausted himself. He took a deep breath. “To what do I owe such good fortune? It’s true! I had an omen that a great treasure would someday wash up on my shore, and here it is!

“Yes, Ivan. A great journey lies behind you and an even greater journey ahead. You will discover your past, my friend...and your future. It’s true. One cannot emerge from great depths as anything other than a blank tablet. And see to it, my good man, that you learn to forget again. Lo!”

Amused, Ivan listened closely as the old man continued celebrating his good fortune.

“Come, Ivan. Let’s get some clothes on you! A naked man upon my shore is most certainly not a pleasant sight! Lo! Ha, ha!”

The old man guided Ivan up a long, worn path to his mountainside cottage; it was here that Ivan noticed a small but majestic garden terraced into the hillside and an eagle soaring high above.

It was springtime, and Ivan could still hear the children laughing in his dream.

The cottage was simple and warm, and Ivan felt strangely at home. The old man provided him with clean linens and a warm cup of tea.

“Rest, Ivan,” insisted the old man. “We must be going soon.”

The old man went outside to cultivate his garden, leaving Ivan alone in the cottage.

Ivan patiently attempted to collect his thoughts but found none, much to his chagrin. His mind remained a blank tablet, his stomach still nauseous.

He walked outside and offered to help the old man tend to his garden, but he insisted Ivan rest.

At dusk, the old man began to smoke from a leaf of palm while gathering some wood to build a small fire. He presented Ivan with a fork and teak bowl full of chopped lettuce and assorted vegetables splashed with traces of olive oil and vinegar.

Ivan, emaciated and weak, was quick to nourish himself until, finally, the sun’s light was altogether diminished and the sky darkened ever slightly.

“Yes, Ivan. Your good fortune is also my own; but we have so little time. It’s true. I’ve been waiting for the poets’ ashes to speak to me and believe they finally have! Who better to save the Earth than he who has already conquered it? Oh, the irony, Ivan. Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!”

The fire crackled with flickers of light as the old man puffed smoke from his leaf and continued conversing with Ivan the Conqueror on that fateful evening.

“It’s true, Ivan. As far as the eye can see and the heart can yearn, so too did the sword of your courage and might conquer everything in its path; but a great tide came and washed it all away! Now the children are laughing at you, and the trees too! Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!

“Truth be told, you are ruthless and reach only for a sword…a sharp and bloody one too, but as you’d have it, less to conquer your enemy than to protect the laughing children.

“You will laugh, too, as the children laugh, Ivan. I promise. Courage is your gift, and with it comes many rewards.

“You see, Ivan. War may have been an excuse for you, and I imagine you would cease to be whole without it.”

With the same twinkle in his eye, the old man whispered, “It restored you like a piece of art, but as the artist knows all too well, you got lost and couldn’t find your way home. Come with me,” the old man insisted as the sky drew ever darker, “I want to show you something.”

The old man guided Ivan onto a stone patio and pointed up at a bright, starry sky slowly emerging from the darkness. “Look at the stars and tell me what you see. Do you see a great distance? Do you see it? Do you see courage too?”

Ivan gazed at the stars and replied, “I see only a map by which to navigate my warships, and the only distance that matters is my own. It’s true…A shorter distance means a sooner war.

“You see, old man, war is the natural order of life. I am necessary, and my sword is my virtue. This I do know. My instincts are all I have,” Ivan explained.

“I am no monster,” he added, “but rather one who procures and tames them. It’s true. One must learn first to conquer the hearts of men. Only then can he prevail over the Earth. Many swords are better than one.

“And the haste of my sword, by the way, is an act of love, but less for my enemy, as you say, than for the love of woman and child. In this sense, my sword is not only my shield but also my morality.

“Yes, my old friend. I’m at home in war and revel in it too—that much I can remember—and I know not what I would be without it. War is my art as well as my home. This I know.”

“Yes,” the old man commended, “but haven’t the stars forsaken you already, Ivan? Is there not such a thing as too much distance?” he prodded. “You got lost and couldn’t find your way home. It’s true. I discovered you today, a naked and mindless wreck on my shore, and both children and trees were laughing at you in a dream. Lo! Ha, ha! Lo!”

“This may be true,” Ivan countered. “I may have lost my way, but I didn’t lose myself!”

“The sword shall clash, and clash it must,” agreed the old man, “but a great tide came and washed it all away.

“Don’t you know, Ivan? A great tide is always on the horizon. My wisdom tells me so. It teaches a different art.”

The old man again pointed up at the night sky. “Look closely. Do you see it? There, Ivan. Look!”

Suddenly a great ball of fire fell from the stars before slowly fading into a cloud of smoke as it spread its ashes across the horizon, into the same deep water crashing against the shore.

“Ha, ha!” celebrated the old man. “What you see are the poets falling from the heavens! It’s true! The poet falls from the stars like a ball of fire! Yes, a ball of fire the poet becomes…and his distance!

“You are much the same, my friend, but it is better for the poet to walk upon water with heavy feet, Ivan! Only then shall his spirit rise again and raise the mighty tides!

“Raise the tides, I say, and give us higher ground! Roll ye grateful tide!” the old man cheered.

Ivan continued to listen closely, as he had nothing to hold onto but the old...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 19.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-0897-6 / 9798317808976