Now that I’ve completed sixty orbits around our solar system, the youth-bias messages in our Western Society seem to be knocking on my door more often. I look in the mirror and find it hard to turn away from the voice on my shoulder pointing out the lines and age spots, telling me how unattractive they are and that it’s all downhill from here on.
Fortunately, all those orbits around the sun have also brought me new information and introduced me to new voices with different perspectives.
Enter the voice of my tree.
I just finished a class with Sarah Seidelmann, a physician turned coach, and writer of What the Walrus Knows. Over the past few months she helped me re-discover my deep connection to Nature and open my ears to the subtle voices whispering all around me: the hummingbird hovering over my geranium, a black crow perched on the wall of the balcony, and the rabbit that wants to come out of the piece of alabaster I’m sanding and sculpting.
This morning, I heard the voice of the tree right outside my balcony. My tree is big, gnarly, and old, and for the past four months, it’s bare, stark arms have been twisting towards the sky. Not exactly attractive by some standards, but always calm, dignified, and serene – an open, clean dessert beauty. For the past week, I’ve been watching spring leaves begin to sprout from those bare branches. What astounds me is how fast they’re growing. As I sat soaking in the cool morning stillness, admiring those fresh leaves I wondered what message my tree had for me today?
And there it was – clear as could be. My tree reminded me to notice and appreciate the gifts of age and largeness. As it has grown older, it has become so much more than a young sapling tree. Its roots have spread deep into the stability and nourishment of the earth and its arms have spread wide, providing shade from the dessert sun and a resting place for countless birds. Every year it becomes bigger and better, weathered to perfection by the scorching sun, monsoon rains, and wind storms. Less than a month ago, it survived another in a long string of chainsaw amputation of limbs that humans found unacceptable and every year it continues to grow and spread more oxygen, shelter, and beauty.
The tree wanted me to know that having more to give is the gift of my years. It’s telling me that I’ve shed old patterns and beliefs, that I’ve gone through a period of rest and that the new growth is emerging – fast. It’s ready to come bursting through, more abundant and beautiful than ever. The lines, age spots, and grey hairs hold a beautiful message of experiences lived, expanding understanding and an accumulation of wisdom and compassion to be shared.
How wonderful to be growing older. I believe I’ll be paying more attention to what my tree has to say than listening to those other voices… Want to try it with me?
