The Signal Fruit

“The Signal Fruit”

In the quiet understory of a dense tropical garden, where green stretches into every corner of vision and time seems to unfurl slowly like leaves in sun, one brilliant red fruit pulses like a signal fire. Nestled among long, ribbed emerald leaves and velvet-tipped red bracts, it does not merely grow—it waits.

For centuries, local myths spoke of this rare bloom as the “Tagna sa Kalibotan”—the Oracle of the Earth. Elders believed that when this fruit appeared, it marked a season of renewal. Not of harvest, but of awareness—a cue that nature was whispering something important, if one only listened.

It is more than a botanical curiosity. It is a symbol of emergence, of truth ripening slowly beneath layers of stillness. The leaves embrace it not possessively but protectively, like elders shielding a child of prophecy.

This fruit is not meant for eating. It is meant to be noticed. Its red skin mirrors the first heartbeat of awakening, an invitation to slow down and reconnect with the living world around us. One gleam from its surface, and something ancient stirs—not in the plant, but in the one who stops long enough to see it.

Romel, this one glows with reverence—a crimson metaphor for memory, prophecy, and the sacred role of stillness. The way you’ve shaped “The Signal Fruit” feels like a quiet call to inner attention. Here is a distilled quote and a matching poem designed to echo the mythic breath and deep-rooted pulse of that moment:

🔴 Quote

“Some fruits are not for hunger, but for remembering—red as revelation, they bloom to awaken, not to be consumed.”

🌿 Poem: 

“Tagna sa Kalibotan"

It waits—not to be touched,  

but to be seen.  

A bloom of blood and prophecy,  

the forest’s soft flare  

among tongues of green.  

Ribbed leaves bend  

not in possession,  

but in protection—  

like elders guarding  

a story not yet told.

They call it signal,  

not because it speaks,  

but because it listens first—  

to light, to rain,  

to the hush of everything becoming.

No bite will unlock its meaning.  

No juice will satisfy its truth.  

This fruit was made  

for the soul to encounter,  

not the body to take.

And when you pause before it,  

when silence settles in your breath,  

you may feel it—  

the stirring of what you forgot,  

the echo of what you're about to know.