Walking the Land: Do You Have a Tree Friend?
From the time I was five, taught me that trees are our best and finest teachers in the Plant Nation. She had a small blanket that she always carried with her for when we would wander through the woods of the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, asking me to find just the ‘right’ tree for me to sit with.
She taught me that each tree has a spirit. And it also had a unique personality; just as each person on Mother Earth, did. No two trees were alike. And soul-age-wise, they were as different as we two-leggeds were. She divided Soul age something like this: infant souls, 7–12-year-old souls, teenage souls, young adult (18-27), adult (28-65) old (67+). The only way you could find out was to ask the tree how “old” it was soul-wise. That was important because as the soul gains more and more incarnations, it obviously learns a lot more, and has many more experiences, than say, a younger soul.
All you have to do is look at your own lifespan and recognize these levels of growth. She always liked to choose an “old soul” tree, a grandmother, because she had the longest time in body and therefore, many more experiences, as well as growth as a tree being. Humans, she told me, were the same. Look to one’s elders because they’d lived through many more experiences, gained wisdom from them, and therefore, could pass on their hard-won knowledge to another.
She allowed me to wander through the grove of evergreens, and would point out certain things—such as making sure the tree you were drawn to, heart-wise, was not “sick.” To ascertain that, she showed me the trunk and bark of a healthy tree. Was it in an area that was regularly replenished with rain or not? Was it in a rocky, less soil area? Looking at the bark, did it have a healthy color or not? Look for what she called “knots” or what looked like a bulging tumor on the trunk of the tree. Look to see if all her limbs were attached. Frequently, in old soul trees, some of their major limbs had fallen and broken off. It is a danger to the person, if one breaks and falls on them while meditating with the tree, but also, the tree itself is suffering from such loss. By losing a limb or two, the tree is suddenly out of balance with its original form that kept it in harmony with itself.
When we would come upon a tree with a “tumor” on it, my mother would stop, offer cornmeal as a gift, ask if it would like help and healing and if the tree consented, she would place her hands upon the area. Sometimes, it wasn’t a tumor looking area, but rather a gash or opening in the trunk, the lifeblood of the tree slowly dripping out, like an ongoing hemorrhage. She would place her hands upon that area as well, ground herself, and ask Mother Earth for healing energy for this particular tree.
Because we traversed the same area of the Cascades, I remember going back a year later into the same spot. And the sick trees that asked for my mother’s help, would be healed. The tumor would be shrinking and less than before. An opened wound on a tree would be completely healed up, no more hemorrhaging of the tree’s lifeblood. That always made me happy and I could feel the joy of the tree when my mother would go over to it, gently lay her hand upon the bark, in mental telepathy with the spirit of it. I liked to hug the tree with my spindly, short arms, always feeling a warmth surround me, the tree spirit lovingly embracing me.
I never questioned that any of this was possible. I could feel my mother’s energy shift and change when she worked with a sick tree. I could feel the tree’s eternal gratefulness and love she bestowed upon my mother as she brought healing energy through her body, out her hands and to the suffering tree. And I could feel the tree’s humble thanks to her when she was finished. I always loved the smile in my mother’s hazel eyes, and her lips as she gently removed her hands, looking up at the tree with love and kindness.
When I would find just the ‘right’ tree, I would take some cornmeal from my deerskin pouch, sprinkle it upon the bark of the huge evergreen, usually a Hemlock, and mentally introduce myself and what I would like to do with the tree’s permission—which was to sit and meditate with her. Would she allow it? I would always get this overwhelming joy surrounding me. Sometimes, a tree would invisibly reach out and pull me toward her trunk, inviting me to sit down with her.
If a tree didn’t want me to sit with it, I would humbly offer it more cornmeal, thank it, and go on my way to find another one who might allow a human child to sit with her. Trees, my mother told me, were truly like people. Often, a tree on a trail or path in a park was always being touched by humans who had no idea that perhaps they did not want to be touched. Each time an untrained human being touched a tree, they TOOK energy from it. If you have fifty people a day all touching that same tree, it is being deprived of energy it needs in order to live.
One does not touch a tree without its permission first. You ask, my mother told me. Would I go up to a stranger human and touch them without their consent first? No. I would ask first. It was the same with all our relations, my mother told me. Humans were not better than anything in Nature. We were all at the same level. And she said that we were all equal to one another; therefore, we must respect them as we did ourselves.
My mother would spread my small blanket against the ground, next to the trunk, and I would sit down. She had taught me how to ground myself: close my eyes, take three deep breaths in my nose and slowly exhale out my mouth. Then, to picture thin tree roots gently wrapping around each of my ankles, the point of the root going down through the center of my foot (it didn’t hurt and there was no pain) and deep, deep, deep, into the soil of Mother Earth. Once I was grounded, I surrender over to the love and care of the grandmother tree.
Sometimes, it was feelings of being loved, of being embraced, and feeling so happy I would smile. Other times, the grandmother would show me a symbol, or she would tell me a story about something that happened to her and her tree family. One showed me an eclipse. I didn’t know what one was until I asked my mother after coming out of my meditation. Another showed me a beautiful white comet above them in the starry, black night and I remember gasping with awe at how beautiful it was! And yet another showed me a strong storm, and how rain fell so fast and hard that rocks and soil rushed in churning rivers down the hillside around them. I always loved sitting with a tree! What they saw, how emotional they felt over the eclipse or a comet in the heavens, was amazing to me.
I was always grateful for my mother’s Druid teaching/training with my tree family, and as I grew up and left the family to live my life path, trees became an integral part of my life. Sometimes, life is hard and at those times, when I felt sad, lost hope or felt a little depressed, I would find a tree, an old grandmother, and sit with her. Always, without fail, she would hold me like a well-loved child, feed me her heart energy, and I would come out of the meditation feeling far better than before. The symbol or event that the tree shared with me, was about my present situation and status, helping me to emotionally adjust and come to a more balanced place within myself.
I have never been a “city” person, i.e., living in an overcrowded, rush, rush, rush city with bright lights around twenty-four hours a day. I’ve always lived in rural or wild areas where I could be close to the tree people and have a connection with them. I love them as I would love a human. My profound admiration for the tree nation is strong and always present within me. If I have a problem, an issue, or I’m wrestling with a decision, I will go sit with one of my cottonwood trees just outside our home. That tree will always show me a perspective, or perhaps another way of seeing the situation or issue I’m tussling with. I am always better for the connection.
Find a tree that calls you. Offer cornmeal as a sign of respect and equality between the two of you. If you feel a joy suddenly sweeping over you, an invisible warmth surrounding you, a tug forward which is an invite to come and sit, these are all signs of welcome and connection. They are our best friends. Find one nearby that you can sit with. You won’t be sorry.
