Be Like a Tree

Having a 13 week old son is not conducive to blogging.

There simply is no way around that.

Just before Oliver was born I read Philip Pullman's 'The Good Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ'. It's a book that was gifted and not necessarily a title I would have naturally purchased myself. Whilst reading the book I discovered it was part of the Myths Series. These are well known stories reauthorised to retell a myth in a contemporary and memorable way. I have read many other titles in the myth series as I am fascinated by the subject of Myth in our lives. I was surprised to find the story of the New Testament included in the series. Knowing that 'Myth' is the context of the book made reading Philip Pullman's version that much more interesting for me.

And let's face it the lead up to Christmas is also quite an appropriate time to read such a book, as would Easter, both being key Christian times of the year.

Towards the end of the book there is a section which really landed with me and has stayed with me ever since. These are words that stirred up my thoughts and I have returned to reread them a few times since finishing the book.

"Jesus went across the valley to a garden the slopes of the Mount of Olives ... [he] went apart a little way and knelt down. 

'You're not listening', he whispered. 'I've been speaking to you all my life and all I've heard back is silence.'

'Lord, if I thought you were listening, I'd pray for this above all: that any church set up in your name should remain poor, and powerless, and modest. That it should yield no authority except that of love. That it should never cast anyone out. That it should own no property and make no laws. That it should not condemn, but only forgive. That it should be not like a palace with marble walls and polished floors, and guards standing at the door, but like a tree with it's roots deep in the soil, that shelters every kind of bird and beast and gives blossom in the spring and shade in the hot sun and fruit in the season, and in time give up its good sound wood for the carpenter, but that sheds many thousands of seeds so that new trees can grow in its place. Does the tree say to the sparrow "Get out you don't belong here?" Does the tree say to the hungry man "This fruit is not for you?" Does the tree test the loyalty of the beast before it allows them into the shade?

This is all I can do now, whisper into the silence. How much longer will I even feel like doing that? You're not there. You've never heard me. I'd do better to talk to a tree, to talk to a dog, an owl, a little grasshopper. They'll always be there. I'm with the fool in the psalm. You thought we could get on without you; no - you didn't care whether we got on without you or not. You just got up and left. So that's what we're doing, we're getting on. I'm part of the world, and I love every grain of sand and blade of grass and drop of blood in it. There might as well not be anything else, because these things are enough to gladden the heart and calm the spirit; and we know they delight the body. Body and spirit ... is there a difference? Where does one end and the other begin? Aren't they the same?*

*Excerpt from pages 192 - 200.

It feels to me these words resonate with the premise that as humans we are spiritual beings all of one consciousness having a human experience. The individual part of ourselves is the ego that is more focused on our separateness and all that comes with that; competition, fear, violence, greed, power over others, othering etc. The more transcendental part of ourselves recognises that everything is connected to everything else. In that way what we do to 'others' if there was such a thing is what we do to ourselves, because fundamentally there is no difference. Life is life. Love is love. Life is love. Anything else results in suffering.