making up existence
Khoda was a man who was living in the woods - or who thought he was living in the woods. In reality, the trees were people who formed a forest.
Khoda never noticed that; never in his life did he notice that. And he lived a long life. Longer than any one of the trees. He saw them grow and die, rot and grow again. To him it was nice to watch. An endless cycle; sometimes he wished he could stop the cycle and put all the trees into different places - or with their roots up into heaven.
But he was Khoda. He never did what he thought. He believed thoughts were doing enough to make things move. In fact, he didn't even know how to DO, really DO something. He was just there, thinking. It seemed strange to him: He knew that things went the way he wanted them to go, and at the same time the things as they went seemed to be a huge miracle to him. Too big for him to ever find out what lay beyond them. If he had only found out. Maybe it would have been the end of his existence, because he would've seen that it was him alone.
And that's why the trees aren't standing with their roots up in heaven and all their life on the very same spot. The only chance for them to move is to rot and to grow again - the only way. Die.
That's how Khoda thought it worked when he was walking through the woods. And he never thought it worked in any other way because he never saw it in any other way, and it wasn't his fault that his mind couldn't imagine anything he had never seen in his life. And he lived a long life.
So he saw when he was walking, and he was thinking while he saw and he walked and the trees followed his thoughts. Because there was no other way - but the mere forest.