There is an extraordinary beech tree in the woods near my home. It is located on a hill that leads down to a meandering creek. Most often I encounter the tree by chance when I am just wandering along the deer trails or heading toward or returning from a visit to the creek. But consistently, when I go looking for this tree, I don’t tend to find it. I’m pretty good a finding places in these woods, seeking out where I know the first wild trillium will appear, the deep grove where the wood thrush sing in the mornings and evenings. I know where to listen for the first spring peepers and where I can pick up really interesting fossils and geodes that the spring rains will deposit in a particular bend in the creek. But for some reason this tree is elusive, appearing most often when I’m not looking for it. Long ago this tree was struck by lightning, leaving a charred hole in the trunk. Such a gaping wound can weaken a tree, leaving it more vulnerable to further damage or disease. But this particular tree did not succumb to the strike. It continued to grow and heal, to counter balance what was lost with its strong womanly branches, and eventually the wound was reinforced and framed in a way that created a curious shape of a heart 50 ft above the forest floor. The first time I happened upon this tree, it was a moment of jaw-dropping wonder, catching my breath and causing me to spill the chanterelle mushrooms I’d been gathering. How could such a grievous wound become such an utterly unique and inspiring image of resilience? And why is it that I find this tree most often when I’m not actively looking for it?
We live in a culture of perpetual motion, action and doing. We are suppose not just look, but find. We are encourage to not just “be” but to “do.” But sometimes all that motion and action is like stirring the creek water when you are trying to see through to the bottom. The water gets cloudy and what is at the bottom is obscured. I’m definitely a person that has spent a lot of time “doing.” I’m passionate about my art and work in the world. I value my relationships and tend to over extend myself. It’s always been a challenge for me to stop and let the water settle. When I am doing because of love and passion, there is joy in the activity. Doing is an extension of what I love. But when I am doing because of fear or insecurity of some kind, then the doing is like stirring the water. When I wander in the woods, my steps lead me to the tree. When I’m pressing hard and looking everywhere, what I am looking for can elude me. The Heart Tree doesn’t pick up its roots and move in the night. It is always there like the sun behind the clouds, like the creek bottom below the swirling sand in the water. Wholeness doesn’t happen because we keep endlessly trying, it happens because we do the work and then give the water a chance to internally settle.
The poet, Mary Oliver, wrote about looking not as a way to finding, but as a way of being. She wrote of looking as a way to open herself to what is all around her, to stand in wonder of what cannot be reached but we can reach out to it, and the assurance that we are looking for, is looking for us.
So today I’m trying to allow the cloudy water to settle, to look more with wonder with my arms open and my heart willing. To balance doing and passion with allowing and being.
Question: What does this image of the heart tree, the wound that becomes part of its unique beauty, resilience and healing mean for you ?
Have you ever found yourself “doing” too much out of fear or missing out or some other pressure? Have you ever had a time when you let the water settle and things became more clear?
March 20th 8pm ET “If Not Now, Tell Me When” With WomenSing
Not too late to get tickets for my online Mandolin Concert with WomenSing! I had a fabulous time rehearsing and performing this special concert in celebration of International Women’s Day with the amazing women of the WomenSing Choral Ensemble. Join us tonight for a heart opening concert.
Arrangements by Gary Walters and Conducted by Ofer dal Lal.
To get tickets click HERE
Carrie I think there is a word missing in the question…. What a symbol of resilience!
We are, after all, human beings, not human doings.