Read Instructions for the End of the World for Free Online

a passion for white pants) is loosely based on yogic principals, with a little Buddhism thrown in. Mother Earth is the only “god” and “walk in peace” the only prayer.
    She is praying out loud, words I can’t even register, words that don’t sink in, because I am in shock. My beloved Annika, always so near the edge, always a shooting star blazing across my life, is a Jesus freak ?
    When she says amen I murmur the word myself, “Amen,” because I think that’s what I’m supposed to do.
    But I don’t have a clue what it means.
    NICOLE
    When I wake up in my upstairs bedroom after our first night in my grandparents’ old house, I am aware of the silence. I’d fallen asleep with my headphones on, music blaring, to block out the storm of my parents’ argument, but at some point I must have pulled them off in my sleep, because all I hear now is nothing at all.
    My parents are morning people, so it’s never quiet in our house when the sun comes up. Mom is always making breakfast, putting away dishes, sweeping the floor. Dad, when he’s home, is always hammering or building or fixing something.
    The silence leaves me cold, though it’s already stuffy and warm with the heat of the morning sun blazing in.
    WOLF
    Try to imagine what a tree must love.
    I’m not saying it will be easy to see things from the point of view of a tree. We don’t even consider that trees might have points of view, but they do.
    They absolutely do.
    The tree wants life to flow through it. The tree wants to be an ecosystem for birds, insects, fungi, and other animals. It’s not a conscious wanting. We are among the animals, so a tree that’s strong and healthy and possessing the right shape is happy to hold a tree house.
    This is what Mahesh told me when I was twelve and building my first treetop dwelling. I’d just learned about the importance of the tree’s bark and was worried about damaging the bark of the tree I was working on. He helped me understand what a tree cares about and what it doesn’t, what damage it can suffer for the sake of the greater good and what it can’t.
    This is not like that horrible children’s book, The Giving Tree, where the tree gives everything and the human only takes and takes and takes. I’m talking about a more respectful and symbiotic relationship in which the tree is loved and revered for its beauty, strength, and grace.
    I’ve started to worry not about the tree but about the sound of hammering nails, now that we have neighbors. What if the noise of nailing down roofing tiles leads them here, and what if they notice that my little tree house is built on their property?
    My trespassing wasn’t intentional. I chose the spot at first for the tree, a perfect black oak, which easily supports a house. Also it has a clear view through the forest to the east, of the sunrise and the mountains. It was only after I’d built the foundation structure in the tree that I noticed the few rotting fence posts that had once served as demarcation between properties. Sections of an old barbed wire fence still existed in spots along the property line, but so much of it was gone now that it was sometimes hard to tell where Sadhana’s property ended and the neighboring property began.
    Even after realizing my mistake, I figured no one would care, since the property wasn’t occupied. Now I’m forced to finish the house while looking over my shoulder, worrying about who might discover what was meant to be a tiny fortress against the world, a place of complete solitude.
    Foolish are the plans of mice and men, but trees never make foolish plans—or any plans at all.
    I’ve come to think of building this house as a little prayer.
    I’ve included lots of windows, partly because finding abandoned ones to salvage has been easier than finding enough siding to cover the outer walls. And also because I want to let