On Pines and Needles
Last month I wrote about nothingness, and my difficulties in achieving that state.I thought perhaps it made no sense at all, but in fact it communicated to some of you out there, to my amazement. Daniel Ellsworth, http://www.suite101.com/welcome.cfm/chri... Christian Humor editor here at Suite101, not only found a thread of coherence, but drew inspiration from what I had to say, and made it all seem worthwhile.Read his comments in the Discussion about last month's article, not to gratify my ego, but to experience the depth of his perception and generosity. In fact, read his columns!
Another excellent contributor to Suite 101 is Lloyd Madansky, Contributing Editor for the Baha'i faith.The following link, http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/baha... takes you to his well-researched article on tree metaphors from sacred texts of various religions.One example is this quote from Baha'u'llah:
Man is like unto a tree. If he be adorned with fruit, he hath been and will ever be worthy of praise and commendation. Otherwise a fruitless tree is but fit for fire.
This was significant to me, because I wanted to write about a recent encounter with a tree, and I was looking for quotes. Indeed, I wanted to write about a fruitless tree that is but fit for the fire.
Here is a picture of this tree, trying desperately to fit in with the other Ponderosas, but making a fuel of itself. Note the childhood trauma part of the way up the trunk. The tree was forever bent at an awkward angle after this wicked attack upon it in pre-adolescence. Note, by contrast, the neighboring straight, untroubled trees, all of whom are pictured on Christmas cards, and play golf.
It was an all-day Vipassana retreat, and I was in my chronic funk. I had actually intended to go canoeing with friends that morning, but had got onto the freeway too late and missed them. Canoes made me think of my ex-husband and the Old Town we used to lash to the top of our Toyota station wagon and the places we used to explore: the placid lakes of New York State, and the steaming mystery of the Everglades. This made me miss my husband, which is chronic. I thought about my grandfather who had originally purchased the canoe which I had sold for $50 at a garage sale at the height of the madness that tore my life apart and that made me feel still worse.
The Wal-Mart parking lot where I had missed the canoe gang wasn't making things any better. The concrete was beginning to radiate merciless heat, so after devouring my lunch sandwich at 9 in the morning, I schlepped myself back in the car to start the long boring trip home.
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