I have this belief, a deep held belief, that human beings travel much of their lives in search of understanding who they really are, why we are here, where we have been and how we are to live in the world at our time and place. In that searching we also carry within us the gifts of our ancestors we know and those that are mystery to us. Of course, most of us do not think of this minute to minute, even hourly or daily. But every now and then, we have a moment where we glimpse something that lies deep within us. We don’t always understand why our eyes tear up at some experience or phrase we’ve overheard. We don’t quite fathom why this particular sunset seems richer than others or this view of a lake tugs at our heart. We don’t always understand how a place we’ve never been before feels so familiar. All we know is that when these experiences happen, they are profound. Often fleeting, but still profound.
This morning I had one of those experiences. I sat and had coffee at a park near our home. I have walked by this park hundreds of times, have taken my children to play on the playground there. But today I became completely aware of the grove of trees that make up this park. I vividly saw their shapes and their spacing, how they formed a canopy of shade and protection for those animals and people who walk through and play in this park. I was aware of their aliveness and how my aliveness was somehow connected to theirs. I furrowed my brow but held on to the feeling.
Later I drove down Summit Avenue in St. Paul. I do this periodically, taking in the beautiful houses, the regal lawns, the exquisite landscaping. It makes the regular drive to work more a trip to the art museum rather than the daily schlog. Again, I became aware of how, down the boulevard, the trees are planted in a canopy that creates a pathway of green which will seen begin a show of color. Down this pathway, through these trees, humans walked and ran. I take this same drive nearly every Sunday morning and yet I had never seen that particular protective formation of the trees before. Another brow furrowing. And yet both these experiences of trees connected with me at some deep level, a depth I could not quite put my finger on.
And then I remembered a bit of what I was reading last night before I went to sleep. I have been reading The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers and Seekers by Frank MacEowen in preparation for my upcoming pilgrimage to Scotland. MacEowen writes: “We Celts are lovers of trees. On one day in particular when I was out in the trees, something happened. I had a sudden and shocking remembrance of the trees as guardians, allies, and as conduits for activating memory………In that moment the trees suddenly told me that they were my ancient home, that I had known them intimately before, and that one day I would live among them again.”
Perhaps the reading of this book influenced my experience this morning. Or maybe I was simply more awake and open to the world this day.Who knows? But I guess that each of us has certain ancestral memories that are planted deep in our cells, deep in our minds and hearts. These memories can be awakened at the oddest, yet perfect, moments.
This morning my Celtic ancestors paid a visit.
I love trees. I remember a certain tree on my grandparents farm in Iowa. It was a huge Oak, which stood at the end of the driveway. There were also poplars along the driveway and I would love to lay on the ground as a child and listen to the wind through the trees.
Thank you for jogging the memory.
This reminded me of so many wonderful old trees I’ve loved in my life. There were the two maples on either side of our driveway in central New York State that formed a beautiful archway, each probably about 200 years old. I remember how sad it was to see them have to be taken down because of lightening strikes. And there was the “umbrella tree” as my sisters and I called it at our grandparents house that had a bench beneath it. And, of course, all the trees that just had to be climbed. Thanks for a lovely blog!
Lovely reminder. I live in a village of old trees. Towering oaks and elms arch all the major streets. In summer, i often find myself singing Green Cathedral when driving from one destination to another. These are sacred moments for me in a busy life.