Interlaced boughs, branches, leaves
Sunlight twinkling among the spaces above as wind blows
Tree trunk, solid earthy brown, rough textured bark
Lime green ants in trails, up and down, purposeful.
Nature is teaching me to be, to let go, no attachment to the deep ache in the pit of my stomach or the exquisite feeling as sun flows through the veins of the trees, through my veins. Nature is showing me a practice that has been around before the dawn of time, something innate. I do not know that therapists can teach this practice, have not yet heard the term ʹMindfulnessʼ.
I am completely in the moment. From the distance a sound, faintly audible at first, coming into consciousness.
An aboriginal man is stumbling, yelling. There is some sort of commotion. He is yelling at another man and tears are streaming down his face.
ʺIt’s a tree….. A tree!!!!!ʺ As if to say ʺYou are hurting it, do you not realise!?ʺ The tree sacred, precious, feeling.
The council man wielding the chainsaw takes a momentary glance, then continues his work. It is his job to remove errant branches that look unsafe. Unconcerned, no connection to the spirit of the tree.
Mahogany trees are shallow rooted, yet their branches heavy and vast, spreading. During cyclone season at the ʼTop Endʹ of Australia, people have been killed by their branches as they fall in ferocious winds.
The other man stumbles, lurches, back to his group sitting in a circle on the grass. Sobbing.
My lunch break is over, and I wander back, taking my time, sweat every present in this humidity.
This is it!
I yearn for the sacred, long denied. Down trodden, sunken, hollow cheeked. Soul starved, sucked dry. Succubus prey, prey to myself willingly offered.
Yet even after years of self-sacrifice soul waits for moments, especially in dark places, never lost, ever present even when a faint memory. Waiting to be reclaimed.
I am the drunken lost man, I also belong to the light. Slowly remembering.