I’m posting a day late because the writing simply wasn’t coming. Part of the problem was having too many ideas and not the right tool for weaving them together. Not sure I’ve picked it yet but I don’t like missing a week to sit by my window. So…
Yesterday was Indigenous Peoples Day, or as it was called when I was growing up, Columbus Day. When I was in college and for a couple years while I still lived in Ohio, Columbus Day was the day I went hiking in Mohican State Park. By this time the leaves would have started changing colors, the air was getting its winter bite, and in the woods the air perfumed with the musky scent of decaying leaves. And it was quiet, not silent, just hushed in a way that a room is quiet, yet you can still hear the furnace rumbling or someone breathing in their sleep. It was that sensory caress and overpowering solitude that made my annual visit more sacred ritual than hike.
I usually went alone, but one year I took my future hubby. I remember hearing what sounded like a waterfall, even though there wasn’t supposed to be one in that area. We followed the sound and when we found the source were awed it was just this tiny rivulet flowing over rocks and tree roots. The echo attested to the stillness of the woods; we wouldn’t have heard it otherwise. It’s been 45 years since that hike but the joy of that discovery is still fresh.
Another part of yesterday’s funk was not going for a hike. My Ohio roots and rhythms are still intact so even though the trees are showing their shiny green canopies, it felt like I should be out crunching dead leaves and snapping dry twigs beneath my boots. I did do my morning walk, but tennis shoes on asphalt just isn’t the same. The air was wonderfully brisk, about 39 degrees when I went out, but instead of trees and vines ‘hugging’ me while I walked, I was hugged by my scarf and vest, and surrounded by houses. It wasn’t the forest bathing I craved.
Yesterday was Indigenous Peoples Day and I wanted to include it. Indigenous cultures understand and honor our innate connection to the earth in ways most of us strive to practice. The idea was to find a Native American quote addressing the interconnectedness of creation and tying it to my wandering in the woods. I didn’t find a quote, I found a book my cousin Tom gave me this summer, Sacred Tree: Reflections on Native American Spirituality by Phil Lane, Jr., Judie Bopp, Michael Bopp, Lee Brown, and Elders. Close enough!
Native American spirituality incorporates so much symbolism, and that resonates with me as a Catholic and as a poet-I see symbols in everyday nothings. For Indigenous cultures the 4 directions have special meaning, and four appears often in this book. According to these authors, the Sacred Tree has 4 great meanings, and I’m writing a very brief summary of each. These may be easily viewed as movements in the cycle of human development from our birth toward our unity with the wholeness of creation.
The first meaning is Protection. Trees shelter us from the elements, provide fuel for warmth, provide materials for building shelters. The Sacred Tree, or ceremonial center pole, was a gathering place, a place of peace.
The second is Nourishment. We of course eat the fruits, but this second piece I found intriguing. The leaves symbolize people and when they fall to the ground, they nourish the future growth of the tree. Or another way of looking at it, represents the passing on of accumulated wisdom to future generations.
The third is Growth. Human beings grow in 4 different ways: physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally. There needs to be balance to that growth; some of its hidden, like the roots of the tree, some of its visible, like the branches. The Sacred Tree is rooted in Mother Earth but reaches upward toward a limitless universe.
The fourth is Wholeness. It’s the symbol of unity and centering of the four qualities’ directions in human beings. The Sacred Tree represents the Great Spirit as the center pole of creation, a center for balancing and understanding ourselves as human beings.
As I read, I wondered several things, but two of them: how might we and our country be different had we allowed for indigenous spirituality instead of banishing it to reservations; and maybe forest bathing heals physically, psychologically, and spiritually because of our own ancestral banishment from the Garden of Eden.
So why didn’t I just grab my boots, a protein bar, some water, and hit the trails? Well, we’re on Grandbaby Alert! For now, I don’t venture too far from home, and definitely not where cell reception might be sketchy. So as my friend Jan reminds and recommends, sometimes you just have to sit in the funk and trust it won’t last. I spent most of yesterday sitting in the funk on my deck, the coolish air swirling around me and causing the trees to sway. I watched birds dive bomb each other and hop around the deck railing. And I journaled. I wrote.
I hope we all take the time to get in a little hike this week. The photos included in this post were taken at Landsford Canal State Park, here in South Carolina. It’s home to the largest known stand of the rocky-shoals spider lily. In May/June they turn a portion of the Catawba River white with their blooms.
A Writer's Window 