A Visible Path
A visible path,
Through the bare winter trees,
The leaves have fallen.
Walking down this old country road, I take a look at the French landscape. Stretches of green spaces, old gravel tracks and winter skies, engulfed by silence, broken occasionally by the sounds of birds and horses galloping in a farmer’s field. As I gaze into the landscape, my attention begins to focus on the trees surrounding me. The winter trees seem to speak to me.
The nakedness of the trees allows me to see their form directly. The beauty of leaves, flowers and fruits has passed with the season. The trunk and branches are now visible, revealing their unique shapes, some twisted, sharp and unruly, some uniform and straight. Being in a period of retreat has given me a heightened awareness of my own form and a kinship with these winter trees, the outer reflecting the inner.
How does this relate to spiritual practice I wonder? If the trees are a metaphor for spiritual training, how can I learn from them? I am struck by their ability to transform according to the season, non-discriminating between carrying delicious fruit, leaves and beautiful flowers, and between being stripped naked of these miracles. Of course, these very miracles grow on the branches, which are, twisted and straight alike, and themselves a miracle, an element of the whole. If I were a tree, what season would I like to remain in? I can see that I have some preference to being a tree in blossom, and I wonder why this is. I suspect that is because the blossom covers the twisted and unruly branches beneath. I have the sense that this identification with the blossom is why these winter trees speak to me. They are calling for me to see more of my nature lying beneath, which is twisted, sharp and unruly. This is what I hear the winter trees whispering to me and I can feel the northern wind clearing away the armour of blossom as it blows. It is time to experience all of the seasons, which come and go in turn.
My vision drops to the ground and I see the beginning of one tree’s roots, spreading into the ground, deep into the earth. The earth nourishes this tree, giving it a base of support and nutrients to help it live. Whilst the seasons change the appearance of the tree, there is a life force, which sustains it throughout. The air brings carbon dioxide to it, helping it stay alive. Just like the tree, we are all dependent on a life force to stay alive and it is something that I take for granted every day. This life force does not discriminate; it nourishes and sustains all. When the tree eventually dies, it returns to the ground and takes on a new form, broken up by insects and matter into the soil and becomes part of the life force that nourishes all.
As I walk back up this country road, my steps feel heavy and I shiver as I feel the cold penetrating deep into my bones. I feel weary and exposed. I think about the oxygen that is keeping me alive, a gift from the trees and the life force nourishing all. I smile and bow. Thank you. Namo Amida Bu. I return home and keep warm by the fire.
