I was thinking about this Ram Dass quote while my son and I went for a two hour walk in the woods today. Whenever I’m feeling bogged down by life, the forest is where everything is made clear. In the trees, I’m able to recenter myself from whatever madness or sadness is plaguing me in the moment. Nature’s cathedral, as it were. My four-year-old usually accompanies me, and I’m grateful for the ways he helps me bask in the simple, taken-for-granted parts of this existence. One of the purest things about children is their ability to see that nothing is insignificant. We lose that somewhere along the way. The wonder of life slowly but surely gets drummed out of us.
Today we simply marveled at the trees. We got curious about them. I wondered about all the things they had seen, appreciating how they had weathered storms and human intervention amid the passage of time. Most were covered in lush green moss, indicators of clear air, low light, and high levels of moisture. Some had mysterious and inviting little hollows. We fabricated stories about the creatures residing therein. Perhaps a hedgehog? Maybe a gnome or two? Many trees had exposed roots, twisting on the earth like exposed nerve endings. Others loomed large with snarled branches. We imagined these to be giant monsters presently asleep but easily awakened. Our steps quickened as we walked past so as not to disturb them. One had a curious wart that my son labeled a “brain”, and it genuinely looked like one too. Our favourites were the inosculated trees that grew and fused together in groups of two, three, or four. We decided that these ones were ‘having a party’ and giggled at the utter peculiarity of it all. My son played amongst them, compared his height to that of their sturdy trunks, and embraced them as if he had made lifelong friends. No judgment. Just reveling in their existence.
Despite their quirks and flaws, trees are regal and resilient. We walk through the forest and accept them as they are, with gratitude for the fact that they are still standing for our eyes to look upon. I want to be like that with humans too, and I think for the most part, I am. I don’t have a lot of difficulty accepting people as they are. It’s myself that I judge the harshest – feeling the need to explain every contortion. All the cracks, holes, and faults. Each exposed nerve-ending. All the necessary changes that occur with each season. I don’t give myself a lot of grace.
Self-compassion is something I actively practice, but in truly awful moments of self-abasement, I seem to throw it all away, particularly when faced with deep pain or excruciating hardship. What if I don't measure up? What if I’m selfishly and unnecessarily taking up space? What if I can’t carry the weight? What if I reveal too much of myself and the ugliest parts are not accepted?
Well, today I remembered that trees bleed. I recalled how, as a child, I would constantly hug and hang out with this one tree we had in the front yard. I would stick my fingers in its sap and play pretend under its canopy. I always had a difficult time cleaning the sap off my hands, but I’d keep touching it. It didn’t matter to me, because I loved that tree, and I made a home in it. This invited the realization that what makes a tree majestic is not that it is without flaws, or that it never bleeds, but that it keeps going through a cycle of change. It’s always evolving. Most of us accept that a tree will take up space, and that as the seasons change and the years pass, it will inevitably transform. We recognize that no matter the defects, there are no imperfections in nature. And so we deem it worthy to gaze upon all the same. It got me thinking...maybe I should start envisioning myself as being the tree.