Wednesday, January 18, 2006

new life

Every tree is a mother. Each season she gives birth to new life. She spends the winter pregnant with seed, reserving all the nutrients she imbibes to feed the creation growing inside. Her limbs hang bare, feeble yet strong. Her stature is proud; perhaps a bit tired, but confident, as she patiently awaits her vitality to return. She draws her subtle energy from the rich, wet ground, and rests in the wisdom of her nature. Meanwhile, her body and soul prepare for the budding of spring. The days grow longer, her source of light, stronger. Her faith proves true and soon she is bright again. First she is adorned with little flowers, noticeable mainly to herself. Others merely sense a change. They say they can "smell it in the air."
She soon feels the flowers turn into smooth coils of fiber, then delights as they unfold into beautiful, fresh leaves. A passerby notices her change: "suddenly everything looks so green!" he says. And so it is. Not only green, but shiny, bright, new green, like a fresh pepper just harvested from the fields. The mother tree smells and feels alive, and she celebrates with her friends and neighbors, as they, too, have given birth, once again.
The greatest honor of motherhood, of course, is to watch your children grow. To see them become strong and independent, and to witness their first recognition of their own selves. They slowly realize that they are whole, not merely one of your parts. Finally, they find their own colors, turning from green to red, or perhaps orange, or brown. They please the world with their brilliance, and at last, express the will to be free. As the mother, the tree must let them fall. She must release her grip, and let them sail, gently swaying back and forth through the tides of the open air. From her distance, the tree does not know what will become of them. She only knows that as the weather cools and the days shorten, she must reserve her energy for another cycle of change. She will give birth again, and again and again. So continues the life of the mother, who is a tree.

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