Last week we decided to finally have a large oak tree cut down and removed from our front yard. It's been dead at least 2 years now (maybe longer), but we'd resisted. Why do we resist discarding what's already gone, what's no longer alive? For me, letting go is always hard. Always. And we're very attached to our trees. It's a big part of why we live here, surrounded by so many tall, powerful, wise ones over 100 years old. Even when they're already dead, cutting them down still feels like murder.
But it was time. Positioned where it was, one bad storm could have it crashing into our roof. And if you looked at it from the street rather than from our front door, it did look a bit...well, bad. So down it came. I couldn't watch. I just listened while the saw cried its long buzz, then ended with a THUD.
After the tree trimmers left, I walked outside to the spot for a private moment. It felt like a mourning. I was very quiet as I viewed the slice of trunk that looked like a slice of sandwich bread. I looked at all the age lines in it, marking its history and its wisdom. Then I stepped onto it and stood there, looking down at my feet planted firmly where the tree used to be.
Letting go. Dying into life. Connecting with the source of creation and the Creator who brings all life into being. May we all grow tall, strong and wise, spreading our arms wide while it is our time to flourish.