A few years ago I had the privilege of spending an afternoon with a good friend among the sequoias in the mountains of northern California. Majestic, extraordinary, divine, humbling, overwhelming, fragrant ... Words are inadequate to express the experience of walking among the giants. You have to be there. It has to be felt.
In the mountains, trees can live hundreds of years; some estimated to be there when Jesus was a lad—literally. In the plains, forests, and our yard—we have around 50 tall trees, mostly pine, some maple, red bud, and cedar—tree roots generally grow downward and spread out, gathering nutrients from the earth. Nourishment is stored in the roots. On mountain rock, roots find the tiniest cracks, and over time the organic, subtle strength of the tree overcomes the hardness of rock. Though the tree hanging to the mountain might look precarious, firmly rooted mountain trees can live much longer than trees in the forest.
I have wondered why much philosophical and theological thinking has ignored or looked down on nature. One philosophical impulse from Plato onward was to escape nature, to leave the world of shadows and return to the realm of the pure forms. A strong religious impulse has been much the same: this world is not our home, we belong in heaven. Perhaps worse, the world is a snare to entrap us; "The world, the flesh and the devil," the triumvirate antagonizer to pull us is away from heavenly visions. A certain religious impulse (similar to Platonism and Neo-Platonism) tells us that the world is an illusion, not real at all; the world does not really exist. Religious solutions have involved asceticism: treat the body harshly, ignore its needs or else meditate or pray for hours at a time, often in uncomfortable positions.
In my younger days I imbibed this "other-worldly" impulse with relish. I no longer do. I'm happy and at home in the only world we have, with the abundance and wonder of nature—all that is. For me now, the divine is in all things, "and I say to myself: what a wonderful world."
The ancient Daoist sages paid attention to nature. Their impulse was to go with the flow of nature; to observe, to learn, to sit happily and contented with the tree on the mountain.
And what of that tree? The tree on the mountain exudes patience—lots of patience. Organic growth might sometimes be swift—thank God for mushrooms—but solidity and steadfastness in a difficult environment takes time. Gradual progress is the leitmotif of the mountain tree. Aristotle (in contrast to his teacher Plato) valued nature. He told us everything has a natural telos—a goal or purpose. Perhaps, if the mountain trees could talk they might chorus, "Find your purpose, stick with it, let it evolve organically and be patient." Nature finds a way.
I'm OK with that,
Be well today,
+Ab. Andy