It was a huge experience, it was also no big deal - leaving Quiet Waters, I mean. All signs pointed to go, definitely. For instance I got parking spots RIGHT in front of the chateau as well as Quiet Waters, making the loading of stuff into and out of the zipcar extremely easy. I moved during the commute hour because that's when I could do it, but because this is August, there really wasn't a lot of traffic. I reserved the car for an hour, but it only took 20 minutes to do the whole move. When I parked the zipcar in front of Quiet Waters, it was spitting rain but ten minutes later, unloading stuff in front of the chateau, the sun had come out from behind lovely puffy clouds. This kind of synchronicity is meaningful to me. It's the multiverse's way of telling me I'm right on track with what's supposed to unfold.
Internally, it was a grand Rite of Passage, culminating after much contemplation, prayer, also grinding of teeth and wringing of hands. The move was, in my mind, worthy of a scene in a Cecil B. deMille movie. The clouds, thunder (but no lightning ... ??) and the bouts of rain were definitely cinematic. For me the move was Bigger than Life Size, but to the casual onlooker, it was just some woman tossing sheets and a massage table into a zipcar, no more, no less. Hmmm.
I was thinking yesterday about our Reclaiming public rituals. We didn't allow people to take pictures or videos because we knew that the feeling in the middle of the magic can not be conveyed in two dimensions. A bunch of people in a circle, toning, looking blissed out, their arms lifted to the sky, well, in a picture or video it's really dorky. But if you're a part of the circle, co-creating and experiencing the energy, it is a very beautiful moment.
After the move, I walked around for awhile, took pictures. The cloud people were close to the ground. I felt I could almost jump aboard and take a ride with them. It wasn't too hot. At the moment I made an offering of gratitude to the five winds, a little breeze skipped through my hair, across my face, as if in acknowledgement and acceptance. Wow.
Yesterday was just another Monday to a whole lot of people, but for me it was a great day, formidable, and charmed. Onwards and upwards indeed!
This is the stump leftover from the tree across the street from the house on Tennessee Avenue, a tree I loved so much, that died this spring. What is that hole in the center of the stump? Do trees die from the inside out?
9 comments:
Congratulations. I can always tell when I'm on the right path, it just flows like this. I'm glad it was such a positive and affirming experience for you. I don't know about the tree, curious though.
Someone will know why there's a hole in the middle.
Thanks Jeanette. Life is good and I am grateful.
The short answer is yes and no. Trees only truly "live" in the outer layers, and so that is where they die. This one probably got some kind of disease or infestation, other than the decayed core. A hardwood tree can live with a hollow core for many, many years, but simply remove a ring of bark about a foot wide, and you have a dead tree. Beavers kill large trees this way, by tearing off the bark all the way around. The tree dies, allowing new trees to grow, on which they feed. Native Americans used this "girdling" technique kill trees, even as they used controlled burns to clear land. Only silly Europeans would try to cut down a green tree :-)
Married to a forester, I was about to give you what Linthead just said, but I'll just add that the hollowness in the middle of the tree is why they had to take it down: it was a danger to others. Hollow trees, weakened, fall over easily.
Your move was perfectly timed, and I'm so glad to hear it.
The tree bloomed last spring, got a full canopy of leaves which then suddenly turned brown halfway through summer.
Very cool to learn about inner and outer layers. Thanks!
we're losing ash trees by the thousands. it's a sad scary expensive mess. The tunnel works great on your header, i see you figured it out!
Greetings from South Carolina! I'm so glad your move went well and you are feeling so good about it.
Gigantic old hollow trees are a big topic of conversation around here right now. It seems the big black ants are often the culprit, especially with the big old oak trees.
This one was not an oak. I think it was an elm tree.
That kind of synchronicity makes you feel understood, doesn't it?
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