Since moving to Aotearoa New Zealand - the land of the long white cloud – some 17 years ago, I have fallen in love with the therapeutic power of nature. Not only does time in the natural world calm and soothe the nervous system, clear the mind and fill the lungs with a vibrant infusion of oxygen, but it also reminds us of our essential nature and offers us metaphors for living. The ocean invites us to learn about impermanence, allowing waves of experience and turbulence to roll through our being, swelling, peaking and subsiding again. The sky invites us to grasp the vast unchanging backdrop of the universe that holds everything within it and is unaffected by what is moving through. The earth connects us to the qualities of steadiness, solidity, slowing down and embodiment, while plants and animals teach us to live in harmony with our instincts and visceral knowing, in tune with the rhythms of life.
Trees hold a place particularly dear to my heart. I think of trees as the wisdom keepers, the elders of the natural world, many standing long before my arrival on the planet and will be standing long after I’m returned to the elements. They watch the ebb and flow of human generations passing through - dignified, reserved, bearing witness to all that unfolds. Trees, I have read, support each other in community, giving their resources to those in need, sending danger and threat signals to their companions. Trees give to the planet instead of ravaging and pillaging its resources. Trees do not self-sabotage or resist the flow of life. When a tree in my garden was ripped in half by a tornado some years ago, it slowly and gracefully reshaped itself around the missing limbs and over the course of several years returned to abundance, simply with a different outline. The tree does not get lost in a ‘poor me’ story, place blame or seek retaliation. The tree simply does what’s needed to carry on and thrive in the best way possible.
Have you ever spent time with a tree? I mean really spent time? Speaking and listening and absorbing its wisdom?
Some years ago, I was taught on a retreat to meditate with trees. The practice is simple. You head outdoors, choose a tree that calls you, sit down beside it and observe. Take in the energy of the tree - its sounds, smells, textures and contours. Allow yourself to receive it and to be received in return. You might lean against its trunk and connect to the solidity of its presence. If you’re artistically inclined you might choose to draw it. When you feel you’ve established a connection with the tree you can pose a question to it, perhaps a problem or dilemma, something you’ve been wrestling with in your life. You offer your conundrum to the tree and then simply sit back and receive its wisdom. It’s surprising what can come.
Some of the messages I’ve received from trees over the years have included an encouragement to stand tall and proud in who I am. To forget about comparing myself to others, as we’re all unique and perfect in our own way. The oak does not compare itself to the pine. I have been reminded by trees to trust in the seasons of our lives, to wait patiently through the fallow periods and know that the periods of generativity will return when the timing is right. Trees have reminded me of the importance of our roots and how we cannot thrive if we are severed from them. That the deeper our roots and connectedness, the higher we can reach. They have reminded me to be flexible and willing to bend with the passing winds of life, that too much rigidity and brittleness can break us. To not stubbornly pursue something that doesn’t happen organically, but to follow where there’s light and space. They have reminded me of the connectedness of different eco-systems and how we each support each other in interdependence.
There’s a one-hundred-year-old London Plane tree outside my office window on Franklin Road in Auckland that sits alongside me as my co-therapist. I like to imagine this tree has seen it all and has the wisdom to be unperturbed by the human dramas unfolding in the room. In session I often find my gaze drifting to the right as I seek inspiration and the tree hands me a metaphor at just the right moment to reach through a client’s struggle or dilemma. On other days it simply inspires me with its dazzling beauty and changing form. We journey through the seasons together as a team. In summer my tree shields me from the intense glare of the sun on the glass. In winter, the bare branches allow the room to flood with light, warming my space. In spring I watch at close quarters as the miracle of new life emerges, tentatively at first then bursting proudly into bloom. In autumn, the colour palette shifts from green to golden yellow and shimmering bronze, as the tree reminds me of the wisdom of letting go of what’s no longer needed and making space for the new.
Research has shown that people heal faster from surgeries when they have a nature outlook from their hospital room1. I like to think that perhaps my tree is helping my clients (and me) on our healing journeys too. Imagine if we organised our world around this wisdom.
When we think of our relationships and our community, too often we think only in terms of people (and perhaps a few pets). Our connectedness can be so much greater if we widen our vision and see the world that supports us and our interconnectedness with all of life. If we could only live from this deep knowing, I believe our relationship with the planet would begin to heal, we would live in greater harmony with the cycles of life and our natural world would have a chance to thrive again.
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Ulrich, R.S. (1984) View through a window may influence recovery from surgery. Science, 224, (4647) 420-421
Thanks Vicki, beautifully expressed. I don't have a tree to draw on for its wisdom outside my therapy room in CBD Auckland, but I find myself using these metaphors a lot, from my internalized experiences of the healing powers of trees. My green plant must do as a visual reminder at this stage 😉, as well as my special tree friends at home. I notice their unique vibrations, when I spend time with them.
Just beautiful what you can do with your words and thoughts Vicki. Thank you.
Will send you a pic of the tree I planted in memory of my precious dad.