Meditation: On Trees

As I sit here, (taking a break from) writing copy, the wind is blowing hard outside. Although I cannot feel it, I can see the effect it's having on the world outside the window. Mostly the trees. Some litter.

I can't see the wind, of course. Just the effect it's having. This is true of a lot in life. We see the effect, not the cause. Not only when looking at others but also with ourselves. We can find ourselves in terrible moods, facing depression, or battling crippling anxiety. The cause isn't always clear or immediately obvious. Or even still ongoing. But the effect is undeniable. Presently, the cause is a strong wind. The effect on the tree is a great deal of strain. Yet the tree seems to weather this well. (Believe me, I wrestled with myself over the pun).

The tree - on which I'm now fixated - bends with ease and goes with the wind. It doesn't try to fight back or resist. It graciously accepts the situation and works with it. It even makes the wind work for it. Allowing it to shed and scatter its dead leaves and hopeful seeds. A more poetically inclined person might go as far as to say the tree dances in spite of the gale.

I’ve come to realise the reason the tree can withstand so much - and thrive as a result - is the foundations it has put in place. The tree spent a long time setting its roots deep in the ground and built itself gradually and patiently skyward. So many unseen hours and thankless tasks were performed in the darkness of the soil. Using what it had and never truly knowing, but always trusting, that it stood a chance out in the air. Growing wider as well as taller it showed great appreciation for balance and all the while never over-reached or relinquished its growth. Eventually, the tree, having earned enough respect and secured its place in the ecosystem, is able to apprentice younger trees. It gives refuge to insects, birds and mammals - knowing this active network gives more than it takes. A memory stirs now of the early days of my acting career and of my first television audition for which my grandfather kindly chauffeured me (he actually was a chauffeur) and on the way back, whilst I tried to manage expectations and erect a safety net for my inevitable fall by explaining how small a part it was, he turned to me and said: “Great oaks from little acorns grow”. I think I understand this now.

I’ve also come to realise that I’ve spent my break from writing … by writing. It could be worse, I could have gone for a walk in the gale-force winds. Sometimes what we need isn’t a new preoccupation, it’s a new perspective.

"A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees"

-William Blake