After discovering I'd been heading in the wrong direction with my life's work for the longest time, I was lost. I decided to write daily, without any preconception of what to write, in the hope it would become a map for me, revealing a path forward in real-time. I hope these little pieces of writing, are solace and support to anyone who is lost or flying on a trajectory they no longer want to be on.
3) Oaks
I sit on the sloping, loose, red clay soil at the foot of an Oak. I'm pretty much surrounded by them here, six of them close to me.
There's a backdrop of a community of crows chattering in the near distance. An occasional hum of insect wings, the steady wing beat of a woodpigeon, marked with the staccato pop, crack and plop of a falling acorn, the scant breeze barely lifting a leaf.
Two Robins sing with their whole selves - maybe to each other, their song a balm to every part of my being, soothing and uplifting, kindling a hope and innocence in me.
The sun breaks through my leafy canopy, dappling spotlights of illumination on the ground and trunks around me.
I inhale.
A breath in of all the countless shades of green I can see, still firmly attached to interwoven branches, despite the season.
As I sat, I thought about writing. Why write? It can't be for anyone or any project or endeavour. Why? Because that would stop its natural flow and censor what emerges.
And here's the thing, to write for nothing, for no one, for no particular end? This I find challenging. I'm so used to doing everything for some kind of reason.
So what is my motivation? Because I feel there's a thread here, some filament like cobweb silk that's only lit up when you see it in a certain light or if it's covered in dew.
There's an almost invisible, fragile web that I feel may connect me to what I need somehow.
When I look to the Oak trees, sit at their feet like a small child listening to a fairy tale, I wonder what they have to tell me today.
I notice, here on this steepish bank how all these trees lean forwards, away from the ground, towards the light.
I notice there are barely any branches on one side - they do not crave balance, they are deeply rooted enough not to outwardly concern themselves with that.
I notice a lot of the youngest branches are the first to be let go of, choosing the wise and solid over the new and delicate.
I notice that they incline themselves towards what enlivens them, feeds them spiritually as well as physically - sunlight.
This balance they have, of roots deep in the dark, richness of the earth, curled around and entwined with others of their kind juxtaposed with their reaching and aspiring for light gives me pause today.
Although many of us see trees as kin, for we are all made of the same stuff, they are a differently imagined being to us.
And I take to wondering what I can learn from them that is relevant to me? From a being living a life so divergent from my own.
And yet, I cannot deny the pull I feel to be with them. And the tranquillity and support I feel from them when I'm with them.
When I sat with them today, I did not feel incomplete nor worried about my emotions. I just sat and looked and listened, I relaxed, I enjoyed, I was open - I was open to receive, unafraid because I trust these trees, I trust their innate purity and ancient wisdom. I trust their silence.
Maybe this is their teaching. Not a specific story, not a personal one, but an energetic transmission. Not made solely for me in that moment but always available from them, if only we care to be open to it.
This energetic transmission isn't even on purpose, it's just who they are, emitting love, growth, peace, thriving, resilience and adaptability.
Trees live their cycles, without fear, expanding and contracting through the wheel of the year without resistance. They benefit and grow with the natural changes.
This is something for me to rediscover in myself.
The previous chapter in this series can be found here: