Tree
Spirits
“Between
every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life.”
John
Muir
Are you
a “tree person?” I am. Trees call to me. I notice them and sometimes talk to
them. As I have mentioned before, I live in a community of Birmingham called Forest
Park. It is filled with old trees—hardwoods and pines, native figs, redbuds,
and dogwoods. The banyan tree I use on my blogsite is from Ocracoke Island on
the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and the picture on this post is from Emerald
Isle on those same banks. I still have photos of a banyan tree I saw on the
island of Maui back in 1969. Here is a small poem written by my friend Isie
that speaks to this kinship with trees. It is titled, “Tree Woman” and was
written in 1996:
“Your
kind, curious roots
Burrow
deep and listen
The
wise mud speaks
You
speak her
You
touch us
We
quicken and green.”
I sometimes
wonder if in our own cells we have remnants of tree DNA and something akin to muscle
memory of lifetimes spent greening in one place. Perhaps there is a lingering primal
resonance between the earth from which our ancient ancestors arose and the modern
human beings we are today. The people I have known in my life who had no
relationship to trees, no awareness of them and no appreciation for their
beauty were people who also had little relationship to their own soul, nor any depth
of connection to life’s creative fire.
Feeling related to the
earth, and to the parts of creation that spring directly from its soil, causes
me to feel responsible for the care and tending of it. Perhaps that was the
purpose of the creation stories in Genesis in which the first human had the task
of naming each part of creation and then given stewardship. It was not to
elevate the humans, not to declare dominion in an inflated way, but to indicate
their servanthood. We are here to tend the garden, and not the other way
around. As with most love relationships, however, it’s a win-win, and a
heart-breaker all at the same time.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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