I Am
One Who Loves A Tree
Something in me stirs.
There is a sloughing off like a snail wiggling free from its shell
Perhaps it was the malaise of middle age, when life and routines seem
to go on and on stretching endlessly before me promising more to come, so I
ignored the urgency of living each day fully.
That brought with it a certain complacency and predictable cadence
about the passing of time
As if every day wasn’t a miracle and a gift, lost as it was amongst all
the other days like it.
But now, in contemplation of what may remain of life, some fifteen or
twenty years, I find each year becomes more precious and stands singularly, not
in clumps of months to be marked by holidays and otherwise ignored.
The dark and anxious winter years have chilled me to the bone, made me
grow stiff.
I’ve been so weighed down by pieces of other people’s lives that have
broken off. You see, I pick them all up and carry them in my pockets, I always
have. It’s exhausting, and I’m ready to let them go - it’s time. Joyfulness
peeks timidly around the corner to see if it’s safe to enter. I almost didn’t
recognize her but invited her in for tea and a chat. Hopefully she’ll stay a
while – I’m enjoying her company.
My dormant spirit stirs with the renewed awareness that I’m like a
flower, uniquely and wonderfully made, every petal known by the Gardener.
And so, I’m shrugging off the dead petals and dead sticks to make way
for new growth. I feel it coming, it is Spring after all.
While dormant I worried and fretted, forgetting myself. I tried to give
my life to the young sapling that grew beside me - but I had no special power
to make it grow or remove the choking weeds entangling its young trunk. It must
grow where it’s planted and draw life for itself, push towards the light, fight
even if it must grow sideways and bent with scars from the struggle.
The important thing is it must battle through to thrive and overcome.
Or not - that remains to be seen, but Life usually finds a way in the end. Go deep young tree! You’ll need deep roots for
the world can be a shallow place.
Can I be the tree? Can I make it want to thrive or fight to make it
live? Can I impart my own life into it without dying myself? Gardeners may come
and pull the weeds, but weeds are stubborn things. They too fight for survival,
seeding themselves into the generous soil, seeking their own malevolent
purpose. Choking things, they are. Not lovely. Not life-giving. Killers. But
life is a struggle, and each must find its own way and so must the tree.
For myself, I have decided to bathe in the glowing sun just breaking
through. I will seek life where I find it. I will enjoy my own scent and
colors. I will grow again, be healthy, and thrive. I can no longer give my life
to that which I have no power to nurture, or both will die. Though we are
planted in the same rich earth – we grow separately and that is as it should be.
We can appreciate each other’s unique beauty. I am one who loves a tree. I hope
one day this one will become a mighty oak to give me shade and I will raise my
voice to sing with the wind in its strong boughs.
April 28, 2018
Cheryl in Oceanside, CA
