One with nature...

 
 


Ah.

Pain.

A constant companion of each moment of my days of late.

 Next week my doctors will possibly put a final name to it and hopefully find some relief for me.

 In the meantime...

though...

I lie in bed and look at the beautiful tall ponderosa pine trees out of my window...

 It is possible that as I look I am moaning and groaning…

And perhaps it is possible I am moaning and groaning a little too much...

Because on Sunday, Mr. Jenny said, "Okay, that's it.   We're going for a drive."

 I refused.

 He insisted.

 I stuck out my lower lip.

 He insisted.

 I gave up and got dressed.

 He gloated.

 We now live in the mountains of Arizona in one of the largest Ponderosa pine stands in North America...

 Or at least that's what it says on all the Chamber of Commerce stuff.

 We drove a short distance and Mr. Jenny turned the truck onto one of the many dirt roads criss-crossing our geography.

 I felt tense and uncomfortable.

 I looked out the window.

 Mr. Jenny opened the sun roof.

 Afternoon shadows drifted across my lap.

 The scent of pines was mesmerizing.

 Mr. Jenny pulled over into a clearing and said, "Let's go for a little walk."

 I refused.

 He insisted.

 I stuck out my lower lip.

 He insisted.

 I gave up and got out of the truck.

 He gloated.

 We walked slowly.

 I felt timid.   I am afraid of anything making me hurt more.  That might sound silly but it’s true.  I dislike feeling timid and afraid.  I dislike pain I have no control over.

 Up ahead on the path I glimpsed a huge Ponderosa pine.

 Its trunk was lighter red than its neighbors.

 Its trunk was broader and stronger looking.

 I hobbled to it.

 The bark was scarred from bullets and hatchets.

 Looking up, I saw diamond-like droplets of sap decorating the rough bark.

 It felt like a powerful tree.

Don’t roll your eyes.  

It did.  

It felt like a warrior tree. 

A survivor tree.

Powerful and sturdy.

I put my arms around it as best I could and embraced the solidness.

 I put my cheek against the bark and closed my eyes.

 Mr. Jenny was very quiet.

 In a serious voice he said, "Why don't I help you down to the ground and you can just sit here for a while?"

 He did.

 And I did.

I tipped my head back and looked again at the diamond-like sparkle of the sap high above in the tree top.

"What makes a tree have sap?  Why is that there?" I asked Mr. Jenny.

"It's protection," he explained, "The tree does that to protect itself."

After his brief explanation, I just closed my eyes and leaned into the massive trunk.

 Mr. Jenny left me sitting while he returned to get the truck.

 The sun was on my face.

 I cried.

 And when I finally stopped crying I felt the strength of the tree.

 I kid you not.

 It was profound.

 It was religious.

I don't know how long I sat and how long Mr. Jenny waited patiently.

The slant of the sun was lower when I opened my eyes.

Mr. Jenny informed me sweetly it was time to go.

He held out his hand to help me up.

I closed my eyes and prepared to stand.

 And I couldn't.

 I could.

 Not.

 Get.

 Up.

 Literally.

 My head was stuck to the tree.

 My hair was tangled up in the sap.

 Stuck.

 Fast.

 Mr. Jenny and I tangled our fingers trying to get my short hair loose from the tree. 

It took a while.

The tree held fast.

But after much hair pulling I was finally free.

 Mr. Jenny and I kept looking at each other.

It was weird, you know?

There was no sap on the tree where I sat.

Really, really weird.

…

On Monday I went to my Reiki lady.   Her name is Jennifer and I’ve been seeing her a lot.

I told her the story of the tree.

She felt in my hair for the dried sap.

She thought for a moment and said, “You know how to take that sap out, don’t you?”

I told her I did.  

But that I wasn’t going to.

I was going to leave it as a reminder that there are greater things then pain.

I was going to leave it as a reminder that I honestly think the tree was trying to heal me.

When I left my Reiki session, Jennifer said, “Can I hug you?”

She did.

Then she ran her hand up through the hair on the back of my head.

“Sap.   Tree sap,” she said quietly.   “I am grateful you told me.”

…

…

As I write this now I feel the tangle of sap on the back of my head.

Weird.

Right?

It makes me feel stronger.

It makes me feel like I can get through this pain.

And that I will get through this pain.

And it makes me remember that strength comes from unusual sources…

…if we are only open enough to sit in the warm sun and embrace the philosophy.

…

I.

I.

Am one with a giant Ponderosa pine tree.

Weird.

Yes?

Blessed and grateful?

For certain.