Of Trees, Chaos and Stillness

It was a headachy morning. I woke up restless and overwhelmed. The wind outside mirrored my inner turmoil, frantically shaking the trees into a whooshing frenzy. As I got up, I became increasingly aware of the “too-much-ness” of it all. I tried to push through to get the day started but it wasn’t doing the trick. It was like swimming against a strong current: My limbs were still moving but I was getting further from my aim.

 So I decided to consciously slow down. Then I slowed down some more. And then some more, in body, mind and heart. I waited, listening. Soon enough, a new possibility started to bubble up: “Maybe the headache is just another thing I am meant to receive. Maybe the resistance is just another thing I am meant to witness. Maybe they are aspects of a “holy friction”* meant to help bring forth what I and the world around me need in this moment.”

My breath deepened and I waited again- more patiently now- for the next impulse, until my feet gently carried me to the kitchen. A few moments later, a cup of hot tea in hand, I felt the need to face and receive the gifts of the sun, sky and trees. I slowly sat down by the screen door, looking out.

At first, it was tough. Too much light, too much movement, too much sound. I commiserated with the poor trees being shaken in all directions. The headache and resistance increased. “Why? Why?…” These words were stubbornly trying to reach my mind’s surface while, in the heart, a wave of what felt like empathy for our collective fate was softly rising…

But then, something else happened. I started to notice that the trees weren’t in reality shaking as intensely and frantically as my overwhelmed mind initially made me believe. There were moments of quiet, too, even if they were short. And not all the branches were constantly shaking at the same time as I’d projected. Some shook more than others, and they sometimes alternated too. Looking more closely, I also saw that the shaking branches, at times, gently leaned on each other, evoking a sense of tender mutual support. At others, their collective dance was so synchronized it inspired awe and a sense of deep beauty. And, in the midst of it all, the still branches were also present, quieting my heart. It was a completely different scene.

As I continued to watch, I found myself knowing and remembering that even if all the branches were shaking, the sturdy trunk would still be still. And even if the trunk were one day to be brought down by an axe or disease, the sky above, holding space for the passing clouds, would still be still. And even if I were to close my eyes and lose sight of this scenery forever, the stillness holding the frenzy, the sounds, the hope, the hopelessness, the projections, the sky and the breath would still be still. And from that place, hope and belonging gently arose like welcome, unexpected guests on a stormy morning. The day could finally start, with gratitude and even a gift to share.

* “Holy friction” is a term Cynthia Bourgeault used in a class to refer to the “denying force” in Gurdjieff’s Law of Three.