It is time that you realize”, she heard the voice speak again. She laughed out loud, I’m wandering through old memories, coming to hiding places long forgotten and hearing voices in my head today, she thought. “You are of the trees”, the voice whispered, sending a chill down her spine. She spoke aloud into the aloneness, “great, I’m finally cracking from the stress, now I’m trying to convince myself I’m a tree.” She laughed again. The voice spoke once more, “You are not a tree, child, you are of the trees, and its time you realized.”
She jumped to her feet, “alright”, she said in a strong voice, “who is out there, this really isn’t funny, following me down to this place, show yourself, now!” She was met only with silence. She looked around but there was no sign that anyone had followed her, she hadn’t heard footsteps behind her as she walked the path and the fall leaves on the ground usually gave the presence of another away. She sighed and returned to the moss-bed.
“Quiet child, there is no one here but the trees, it is us you hear.” The voice was soft and soothing as it spoke to her. “Ok, I’ll humor you” she spoke back with an annoyed tone, “I’m talking to trees because I’m of the trees, never mind I have no roots, nor branches, nor bark, I don’t grow leaves or shed them in the fall.” The voice chuckled softly. “Child, you have roots, though they are not in earth and soil, your roots grow in love and compassion. You have branches, they are the many desires and loves and wills and wants of your heart. You also grow leaves my child, they are the people that adorn your life, that make it rich and full and in your autumn you too shed them, though not as we do. You are of the trees, you are not a tree, child. When you realize, you will find ease to your pain in life.”
She leaned back against the tree and thought about this, the sun started to slip low in the sky. After many minutes she spoke again, “How will realizing I am of the trees ease my pain?” The voice did not speak immediately, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, I have been talking to myself about being a tree, I ought to be checking into a psych ward, not sitting in a forest, she thought.
“Patience child”, the voice finally uttered. “You must learn patience.”
“Patience will ease my pain? I doubt it.” She laughed.
“No Child, patience is needed in this conversation; understanding your being of the trees will ease your pain. A tree is born to live and die many times in its life, as you have already lived and died many times in yours. A tree however, does not fight this life and death as you do Child. A tree has learned to accept that true life is a cycle by which one must live and essentially die and renew over and over again.”
The voice went silent for a long while; she nestled in the moss and drifted into thought. “As you have already lived and died many times”, she pondered these words. She felt as if she’d lived at least a dozen lives already in her 25 years. Those lives did not pass easily and quietly as those of the trees did, however. Maybe there was something to what he was saying.
The voice spoke again. “Trees live their year in peace, a normal cycle of rebirth and growth in the spring, a summer of fullness and joy, their branches covered thickly with rich leaves. In their autumn their colors shine brightly in brilliant hues, their gifts offered to the world in a rainbow of leaves and then their season closes as they are bared before the world and stand alone and exposed in a near death until their next season and rebirth. So do you have your years Child even though they do not follow any calendar but your own. You must learn to live like the tree and accept these seasons for what they are. A tree finds peace in all seasons for they know that the season of rebirth will come. So you must make a choice in your life Child. Will you wake each day and linger in fear of the season when you will lose your leaves and stand bare once more before the world? Live instead Child as the tree does, with the knowledge that for each season they stand exposed and naked they have been granted the gift of glorious memories of their brilliant color and the fullness of their leaves; and then look forward to the promise of a rebirth to come.”
“Such a choice may be easy if you’re a tree.” She scoffed. “I, however, am not granted such an uneventful life with such sweetly predictable seasons, with pain that can be planned for and accepted.” She spoke harshly back to the tree, offended by the insinuation that she lingered too long in her own pain and self-pity. She was strong, she had faced so many things with such perseverance and she was entitled to hold her pain.
“Arrogance does not become you child, you know well you are not the only one to suffer, you would be wise to not forget such things.” The tree spoke in a voice of rebuke, and then his tone softened. Never assume Child that you know the pain that may or may not come to another creature. Each tree in its time will have seasons of difficult growth, where sun and wind and rain do not fall favorably upon them. Storms come and as the storms of life cause you pain so do the storms of the earth bring pain to the trees. They find their branches torn and twisted in the cruel elements, their leaves blown away too soon by unrelenting winds. Consider child, their physical pain echoes those emotional pains you know. You are of the trees child, you too must suffer the storms of life, the seasons where the sun does not shine enough upon you and your leaves grow sparse. Some of your years will be glorious and in the fall of those years you will shine with the brightest colors, but other years your tones will fall muted and quiet among the others as you struggle.”
Once again she lapsed into contemplation and there was quiet between them. The forest danced its usually twilight ballet as her mind drifted. She softly spoke once more, "are all men and women of the trees?” she asked.
"No, Child", came the response. Those that are born of the trees are a very special and select few; they are born to live a life of sacrifice, of servant-hood. You see, the trees are called upon to provide protection and nurturing to all, they provide shade from the harsh sun and a blanket of warmth in their fallen leaves. Those of the trees, similarly, are born to serve, to protect and love and nurture those around them. Even in their autumns as their leaves fall they give of themselves and that which is left behind will always carry a portion of them, to nurture and care for the future. Everyday and in most everything they do, the trees and the children of the trees give of themselves, sacrifice of themselves and offer all they are to the service of others. It is a hard life child, one that you were born into and one you cannot escape. You are of the trees Child and you cannot deny your true nature, which comes from that.
She sighed softly, “so I must spend all this time and energy giving of myself to others, as I always have, feeling burned at how little I receive in return? That’s hardly a life, no, I deserve more.” She spoke with a quiet sad tone, a voice that knew tremendous sacrifice, too much loss and too much pain.
“If you choose to see it that way child, then yes.” Came the answer.
The moon rose in the sky as they sat there in absolute silence. With a scowl on her face she watched the moments of pain and sacrifice in her life pass through her mind like a movie, her mood growing darker at each scene. The night was strangely black, only the outline of the moon could be seen behind the clouds and it seemed as if not a single star remained in the sky to light the way. Time drifted on as she lost herself in despair and the stillness of the forest; she drifted off to sleep quieted by the lullaby of the trees and the night faded into dreams.
Her eyes sprung open as the leaves in front of her rustled, a soft warm breeze met her face as she gazed upon the form of the child in front of her. The child was so tiny, so frail, but with eyes that held such beauty, sweetness and innocence. The little girl’s hands were held forward, cupped, the child kneeled and bowed asking, begging, silently. She looked down and she saw in her own hands the pieces of gold, reaching forward she placed these in the hands of the child and wrapped her warm in the coat from her back. The child shed a small tear, bowed once more and turned, disappearing into the day.
The air felt warmer, the day lighter now, as she had nestled back against the tree. She had rested for only a moment when the form of an old man stood before her. His face was weather beaten and wrinkled with eyes of a man who had seen and done a great many things in his life. His clothing was tatted and his body sleek, bones showing through. His look said hungry, begged for mercy. She looked down into her palm once more and there was more gold, she took it and placed it in his palm moving to hold him tight for a moment, as if to say, it will be alright Sir. She then took the shoes from her feet, they weren’t much but they would help him, she passed them to him as well as the socks. He needed them more. His long face turned up into a smile and for just a moment his eyes twinkled, he turned and disappeared into the day.
She looked out over the distance and she realized now the line that stood before her. It disappeared somewhere on the horizon far far away. The line was filled with men, women and children each with their own need, and as they came to her one-by-one she took the money that appeared endlessly in her hands and wrapped it snuggly in their own palms, embracing each sweetly and then taking whatever extra she could of herself to give them before they disappeared. As each one went she felt lighter, freer, happier and she greeted the next with a new exuberance, a new joy in her heart. The day turned to night and on to day again and she could see the end of the line now, her excitement grew, she danced with the people, sang with them, cried with them, gave them all of herself in so many ways.
Finally the last man stood before her and she looked down, but there was no gold in her hand. She looked at herself; she stood naked before him, not even a stitch of clothing left to give. She dropped to her knees and cried before him, all I can give you Sir is my song, my dance, myself, I have nothing left beyond that I can give to ease your pain.
He raised her from her knees and lifted her head to look at his eyes, they were filled with love. You have offered all I could ask child and your heart smiles and gives more freely because of it. Go, play and be happy.
She smiled broadly and scampered off into the field to run and play with more joy and freedom and completeness than she had ever known.
The morning sun shone down around her when the voice came, “it is time to wake child”. She stirred and rolled in the bed of moss as if the voice was merely her normal morning alarm and the moss of the forest her warm soft bed. A certain new peace loomed about her, as if the joy and contentment of her dream had filled her heart and set her free from some larger burden. She stretched and realized with a bit of a start her surroundings.
She stood and stretched once more, her mind trying to grasp the events of the night, the conversation, was it real? She had fallen asleep so sad, so resigned to a life unfulfilled and yet the night’s rest seemed to have made the world of difference. She slowly remembered the dream. She sat down against the tree once more and contemplated the surreal events. Could it be that a life called to such service could know such joy, that from sacrifice would come the greatest rewards? She looked out over the field in the sweet soft morning light and she knew in her heart that she had been led here to understand.
The voice of the tree spoke one last time. “You have learned as the trees must learn, child, that you must lift your branches to the sun. Even when the weather has seemed to harsh and the day too long, keep lifting your arms and the sun will give you life, shine upon you and care for you. If you do not choose to seek the sunshine you will know great darkness, the other trees will choke you out as they reach toward the light and leave you to a quiet dying realm of somber darkness. You are of the trees child. You will shine in brilliant autumns of life and bring so much to so many, giving of yourself always, with a smile because you reach for the skies. Go now child and live your life, you are a child of the trees, understanding has eased your pain.”
She smiled softly, no longer in need of questioning all that had happened, all that would happen. She skipped off across the fields and disappeared into the woods to a life that would do great good in the world, a life of smiles, love, joy and service. She was a child of the trees.
