The tree and I are having a conversation. Yes, without words. In fact, I've learned that trees don't use words.
Since I am human, I do. I just crossed my legs. The tree, located in a favorite park that is a visiting place of mine, is 300 years old. Now, I have discovered the trees have their own lives, quite separate from ours. Yet the tree and I are mysteriously close friends. We share a lot of feelings. We don't exactly share a sense of humor, but genuine friendship stirs between us.
What do I want from the tree? Peace? Acceptance? Some answers to big questions? I know it sounds crazy, but I find that I would like to engage in a conversation with the tree. Of course, this cannot be! Yet the tree has clearly lived through every kind of change or mood, expectation or adjustment. Through all this the tree remains silent. I perceive its timeless memory and quality of peace.
Needless to say, this is in stark contrast to my experience of the world right now. In fact, I try to shut out scary acts of mass murder, human torture, uncontrolled rage, agony enthroned, and fear. Seated here beneath the tree in a mood of reflection, I strive to dismiss stark and terrible images such as these. I don't succeed in shutting them out and they continue to stun my vision. The tree remains quietly here with me. I sense that the tree is wiser than I, more of a survivor.
The tree is obdurate. It is deeply experienced, obviously rooted in ways that I am not. Yet I can see clearly that I am -- with the tree -- a part of this world.
The tree's branches zigzag all over the place, yet are devoid of any real pattern. This tree contradicts any easy formula for perfection. I realize many other trees are far more elegant, perhaps even stunning. This tree isn't conventionally attractive at all. Yet it is astonishingly wise. I'm thankful that the tree is willing to share its wisdom with me.