I was doing some guided imagery experiments once upon a time. Trying to get my
This is a tree known at the stinton oak. It is or was several years ago in county Devon in England. The tree is probably close to a thousand years old. Give or take a century. Kind of reminds me of an Ent, actually. Battered, missing branches, still standing.
MEDITATION
Close your eyes and feel your
body. Breath in, breath out; savor the miracle of breath. Feel your fingers.
Feel your hands and arms. Savor the miracle of touch. You can find out so much;
rough or smooth, hot or cold.
Move down your body, feel your
legs and feet. With them you can explore the world whether it’s your backyard
or the other side of the world. Walk barefoot through your world. Dry, rustling
autumn leaves or the cold wet sands of an Oregon beach at low tide.
Breath in, breath out. Stretch
out your consciousness. Feel the essence of your life. Your body may be new,
but your soul is old. Finally it can express its beauty in songs, poems, dance,
story, tears and joy.
You are no longer bound by time
or space. Let your thoughts drift. They are as free as the breezes that kiss
you on a cool spring morning. But, it could be a summer night in Greece two
thousand years ago. It could be autumn in Tuscany next year. You are no longer
bound by time or place.
Stretch out you consciousness.
You are an acorn born in the spring. You grew ripe through the summer. The
winds of an August thunderstorm pulled you from the tree. You fell down, down
to nestle among the wildflowers of late summer. The flowers die with the fall frosts
and they bury you among their dead leaves. You are not alone, the banches of
your mother tree were full. In half a millennia a new grove will rise again.
Another year, another spring;
your shell splits. The first tiny leaves reach up towards the sun, the silk
thread roots begin their long journey towards the center of the earth. Spring
comes and goes. Summer sun comes and goes. A sapling slowly reaches for the
sky. The wheel of the year turns and turns again. After all what is a century
or so to an oak.
Another century of summers and
winters. Your roots are intertwined with soil and gravels that rode the melting
ice sheets that began to retreat ten thousand years ago. Remember, you weren’t
the only acorn that fell that long ago spring. Your branches touch and
intertwine with the trees next to you. Their branches intertwine with all the
others. A grove of oaks a thousand strong.
Another century comes, another
goes. You are slowly returning the soil that gave you birth. Even as your trunk
weakens, it provides life to the moss and lichens growing in your bark. Trees
were there before you. Perhaps they knew the ancient Druids. Perhaps Hern led
the Wild Hunt through your grove. Times are harder, the earth changes faster
and faster. But, not so much yet, that your sons and daughters have failed to
take root and begin their long journey towards the sun.
Know this your life, and the
lives of the trees and the stars are as intertwined as the branches of that
grove of oaks.
Inspired by a piece on the website
for the Raven Wood Grove.
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