Have I told this story before? Likely. But its a good one and now there is a part two.
Two winters past, I was sleeping. It was January and in the midst of a deep, schockingly sharp cold below zero. I was awakened by the centuries old persimmon tree outside my window. It wasn’t a knock on the window by a branch. It was the tree calling to me. Like a dream state, but I was awake. I entered the interior of the tree, entered into its existence, invited by the persimmon. She had something to teach me through experience.
I felt the interior sap of the tree, deep in her center, a thick, sluggish cord of energy, hunkered together tightly. The limbs and branches extended with similar threads of energy, more like strands; fragile and tenuous.
The tree knew that it was a season of renewal and change. Some twigs would snap, some limbs would break off, some branches would be there, later.
I don’t know what the sap does in the winter. Does it go into the tap root? Does it abandon the outer reaches? I don’t know. But the tree knows.
In that sacred moment of treeness I understood her courage and fortitude. I understood the nature of Nature and the cycles of coming and going. This majestic tree is old. She and her siblings stand taller than our really tall house. We have felled one persimmon (a perfect laying down of a tree by a ragamuffin alleyway-door knocking-got any work me for kind of guy, who was a tree whisperer). We thanked it. We gathered it to us. And in the winter we released her energy into the house by way of the wood stove and combustion.
So, last night, the February winds were howling and whipping up from the north. Change. Change always comes when the wind blows strong from the North (Mary Poppins comes on the North wind). I watched my friend, the persimmon tree, outside my bedroom window, and as her limbs moved, and teeny twigs fell, I could fee the sap start to move.
Oh, I thank the Goodness of All Things for my teacher. I caught an understanding that my human mind knows, and my human body acknowledges, but it took me as tree to integrate.
We hunker inward, if we are to reflect
We move if we want to get unstuck.
We let go when something is over.
We bend when its time for something to come.
We drop limbs and relationships and identities when they cannot receive energy to continue.
We nourish our sap for the next season of growth.
We flourish again.
So, I got up and moved.
images from google, licensed for reuse