Walk like a man, stand like a tree.
Goodbye to a friend.
It’s my last day in New York and I’m saying goodbye to a tree.
It’s an American Elm, Ulmus americana, in the park around the corner. I did not know this. I had to look it up. I judged myself a little. I should be more curious! But the truth is that I don’t really care about its name. I just like to hang out with it. I know what it feels like to be near it.
I greet it every morning by pressing my palms against the rough bark.
I rest against my head and back against it.
Things slow down.
I watch the light break through the leaves. For a moment, everything seems to stop. Then the branches move in unison. A silent, secret greeting.
Hello there.
The tree is next to a popular dog run and I am the weirdo leaning against it. But I don’t care what it looks like. I’m just interested in the secrets of the trees.
“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. . . . Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.
. . . A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.” — Hermann Hesse
A couple of years ago, I went on a road trip upstate with a girl. When we arrived, she walked up to a tree and hugged it. It was a long, heartfelt hug. A hug that left her smiling. I didn’t show it, but I cringed.
What? We’re literally the ‘tree huggers’ now? Give me a break.
Secretly, I was already making friends with the trees. I had spent a week in an outrageously gorgeous valley in the Dolomite Mountains. There, I found a portal, a moment with nature that changed everything. It appeared as one living and breathing web. As a teacher, too. And I was a part of it.
Initially, I resisted. I felt silly, childish. Then, slowly, I embraced this new way of being. I simply could not resist. On every morning walk, I reached out and let my fingertips run across bark. I got to know all the trees in my neighborhood by touch and texture.
I used to give heady advice. Read this and listen to that. Now my advice sounds trivial.
Before doing anything, do what looks a lot like doing nothing.
Sit outside and listen. Meditate. Pray, if you’re the praying kind (I am now). Slowly let the channel open.
Rest against a tree or simply sit near one. Try to make friends with it. Why not send it some gratitude . . . or some love? What if it could hear your thoughts? Maybe it knows things? Maybe it has advice? The trees and rocks, the land on which we walk and dream, they’ve seen it all.
The forces that we can perceive in this richer reality are fundamentally subtle. My life’s work is to help more people understand that these emotional, energetic, non-logical, non-linear and non-verbal signals often come with a high degree of intelligence. — Tom Morgan
an·thro·po·mor·phism [/ˌanTHrəpəˈmôrˌfizəm/], noun, the attribution of human characteristics or behavior to a god, animal, or object.
There it is. The harsh voice of judgment. Silly boy. Talking to trees. Grow up.
But I no longer care. Between the inner critic and the trees, I know who looks out for me. I know who can teach me how to be.
The tree is deeply rooted. Its branches reach out to receive the light. The trunk connects heaven and earth. That’s how the tree greets the day, the sun, and the wind.
It lives by the rhythm of the seasons. Each spring it sprouts, yet it also lets itself be shaped. It accepts what happens to it and what is in the way — the rocks and the pavement, the droughts, the hail, the gardeners’ saws.
The tree shares: oxygen and perhaps fruit. It offers shelter. It is there to lean against.
When I feel lost, I recall that image, that tree-being: grounded, rooted, and connected. Reaching out, upward. Breathing, receiving light. Listening to the wind, pondering the stars. Sharing what can only be created here, now, by this being, in this way.
That’s how I want to stand: like a channel for life.
Life feels like a paradox: I yearn to stand like a tree, but it is my destiny to walk.
Today is my last day in New York and I will miss my tree,
But not really.
For I know I will find it,
Everywhere and in all trees,
All different,
All perfect.
— Frederik
Good luck on the next chapter of your journey
Excited to hear about it in future pieces. Much love to you, my friend
I’d love to send you pictures of my favorite trees in Medellín, Colombia. Every day, I greet a Ceiba tree growing between tall buildings. Like you, I touch the aerial roots of an enormous ficus—it looks like a tiny, bony hand hanging in the air, longing to be noticed. I feel deeply grateful to those who planted these trees that make my morning walks so wonderful. Thank you for sharing your visions.