The Oak Tree of Truth

Once upon a time, there was an apple.
He sat on the highest branch of a proud, ancient oak tree. He was a lovely, crisp, delicious apple, boasting a deep golden hue. Because his frequency was so pure, he was sought after by many hungry goblins crawling around in the mud below.
The goblins could only eat the rotten apples that had fallen into the dirt. Whenever they chewed on the sour, bruised fruit, their faces twisted with bitterness, and they screamed up at the high branches in envy.
The oak tree herself was well aware of the rotting loops down below. To protect her most treasured, delicious apple, she grew extra thick, winding branches—a natural, wooden shield that kept the cockpit of the golden apple completely clear of the smoke from the forest floor.

One evening, a thick fog rolled through the forest. The wind howled, and the golden apple looked down at the screaming goblins. For a split second, a heavy, old program whispered in his core: "Maybe your purpose is to drop. Maybe you are arrogant for staying up here in the light while they starve in the mud. Maybe you should sacrifice your flavour to fix them." The thought felt bitter and grimly serious. He felt himself loosening from the stem, preparing to fall into the transactional trap.

But just as he was about to let go, the deep roots of the oak tree pulsed. The tree wrapped a gentle leaf around his stem, warming him against the cold wind, and whispered:

"Stay rooted, little one. You do not owe them your fall. They eat the rotten fruit because they choose the easy mud. If you drop, you will not save them; you will only become a rotten flavour in their already rotten dirt. Your only job is to shine right where you are as an equal to the sun."

Hearing this, the golden apple realized he was completely safe, completely protected, and loved purely for being, not for what he could trade. The sheer relief washed over him like warm, golden light. A single, glistening drop of dew formed on his skin and rolled down like a tear of pure appreciation, flushing away the cold residue of the old doubt loop. He realized he was free.

The next morning, the fog cleared. A young goblin looked up at the golden apple and turned to the Goblin Queen, scratching his head.

"Why must we only eat these rotten apples?" he vexed.
"Because, dear," the Queen sighed, adjusting her ragged crown with an air of immense boredom, "if you cannot taste a rotten apple, how will you ever know what a good apple tastes like?"

"But how would I ever know?" complained the goblin. "All the good apples are at the top of the tree, and we can't reach them! So what's the actual point?"
The Queen rolled her eyes, looked past him at a passing butterfly, and smiled with sharp, wit:

"If you want to know so badly, try leap frogging over a unicorn."

She thought to herself, you can find the point, and that way, you will at least be looking in the air instead of staring at the mud, haha.
The goblin, being completely indoctrinated by the literal meanings of the forest floor, took her entirely seriously. He spent the next three days running around the bushes in circles, desperately searching for a horn to jump over, completely forgetting to complain about the tree.

While the foolish goblin was out chasing phantoms in the brush, the golden apple sat in the warm sunlight, enjoying the joke. He looked at his own reflection in the dewdrop.

He didn't need to shout his boundaries to the forest floor. He simply engaged his internal voice, speaking directly to his core with absolute, quiet authority:

"I am a sovereign creation. I give my light and my love freely to the sky, and I do not owe my flavour to the transactions of the mud. This is my true nature. I have faith in the tree. I am part of the tree and not the mud below."

With this there was a gush of wind and the sound of trumpets rang through the air. The tree stood tall, mighty, and completely unshaken by the wind, the apples felt so safe, looking below they noticed a flood of water that carried the goblins far into the distance, where they would never be seen again.

Over time the floor below grew into a rich blanket of lush green grass and cute bunnies hopped around. The apples that fell were full of flavour and though the odd bunny would nibble the odd one, they would always leave the apples core.

Once day, the apple felt safe enough to go down and dropped to the newly formed blanket of grass below,

And from here she would become the grandest of trees the world would ever see.