I know I don’t look normal, so why would you expect me not to talk to trees? Trees were and always have been among my first and best friends. It was even a tree that first taught me to stand up on my two hind legs.
Trees teach me science. They taught me about gravity – about how gravity holds you safely and allows you to learn to bend with the winds of change while still stretching towards heaven. In Autumn, trees have taught me that however beautiful a thing may be, we must eventually let them go to the gravity of time.
I could not live without trees; they are the love of my life. Those leafy ladies breathe oxygen into me as I breathe carbon dioxide into them. It is a very personal way of interbeing just as exciting and enlivening as a French kiss.
A tree cannot heal a wound by replacing damaged cells. The tree grows a scab around the wound to protect itself from infection and simply wears the wound as a scar while it goes on with the business of growing. I’m still trying to learn that teaching.
There is a neutrality in trees. They give shade and shelter without discrimination. They give blossoms to brighten and scent the however dreary world around them. They impart mystery and magic by turning their soulful flowers into nourishing fruit. Trees never question the worthiness of those who receive their gifts. Without striving to do anything outside of their nature, everything is done by their being, everything of their creation is accomplished.
A tree does not think in the same manner as I,
yet ‘It is.’ Because of the trees, ‘I am,’ I am.
Just because I talk to trees, do not think I know their language or can interpret for you. I am still learning. These days, I am just now learning the secrets of roots and their mysterious ways.
Only you can prevent yourself from getting to know a tree.