Sharing a sacred place in nature with you–photos, channeling and thoughts

The evergreen growing in the center picture is coming up right at the top-center of the mound--right at the top of the elevation of the mound although it doesn't appear that way in the center photo, it really is at the point of the top of the mound. You can see it if you look carefully in the other two photo's too. I did not notice it for some reason the last few times I was up there. It is what I will call my very special holiday yule tree.

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a Green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all Ridicule and Deformity… and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.

–William Blake

[See notes at the end of this post regarding the Yule Tree.]

The images above are a composite of the American Indian Burial Mound.  The energy up there is fantastic and soothing/healing.  The trees and foliage is bare and skeletal right now of course, because it is winter–it will be beautiful up there in the spring with all the wild rhododendron’s up there that will be blooming.

I am very careful not to disturb anything up there, letting nature be completely herself.  As I get to the end of the woods on my way back down, I do pick up pieces of small dead wood for kindling for the fireplace and I thank the trees.  To me, it’s as sacred as any muggle church.  And I am so aware of all the natives who walked that very same ground thousands of years ago as well as imagine the life of the husband and wife buried up there.

Here are a few words from Chief Seattle (the name that the white people gave to him) that I really resonate with.

Every part of this country is sacred to my people.  Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or sad experience of my tribe.  Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people, and the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred.

I read that passage a few weeks before Thanksgiving this year.  And this being around the time I first visited the burial mound that the landlord said was there on the mountain top.  By the way, I asked how she knew for sure that it was a burial mound and she said that it is on the papers from the county–on the deed.  I also loved this next segment for Chief Seattle’s words…

And when your children’s children shall think of themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the woods, they will not be alone.  And at night when you think of your streets as deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land.  The white man will never be alone.  Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless. 

I am in a pinch for time and it’s getting late but I wanted to share with my readers a very, very special and sacred place.  If I thought for a moment that anyone could ever find this place, I’d never be so public about some place that is so sacred to me.  To be up here, although it is a heck of a climb straight up–like ‘if you don’t hang on you will fall backward’ kind-of-steep–and it gets the heart pumping to get up there, it is worth the hike… every single step is worth it and I enjoy the journey up as much as I do spending time at the top.

I am not alone up there–there is a strange feeling of being watched.  I always bow to the nature spirits and the ancient ones buried in the mound as I approach and always bring a gift–sometimes cornmeal, sometimes apples for the deer and the rest I will keep secret.  I speak to the Cherokee Little People whenever I get to the top as well as pause at the graves of the christian couple buried next to each other; they crossed over in the — well, she in 1883 and he in 1904 according to their gravestones. One grave has a  footstone with the man’s initials on it.  I really feel that their spirits are part of a nearby tree that is growing fairly close to their graves.  In fact, this is nearby a huge flat top rock that I sit upon to meditate.  I call this the KISSING TREE.  Perhaps to see the images below, you could understand why, considering the words of Sealth AKA Chief Seattle why I believe this tree contains the energy of the couple (who died in the late 1800’s mentioned above) — the trees are kissing. So my grandkids and I call it the kissing tree but in my heart, it contains the energy of the buried husband and wife.  Images below.

The views up there are very nice… well, winter views are different from the summer season but you have lots of privacy even in the winter and really once I’m up there, I do not want to come back down!  Last time I was there four hours and did not come down until the sun was going down and I had to!  I meditate, write, read and hike and explore and talk to the spirits; if ever I was at home somewhere, it is there.  No people, no muggles–just me and the trees.  Oh, it is very late at night now–way past my bedtime.  I will share some random thoughts that I jotted down last time I was up there and then I will end this post. Oh, now that i am looking at the longhand here, I see part of this is channeled.  Well, I will type it all out–I’m too tired to edit.  LOL

“We the spirits of this mountain top recognize your presence, your offerings, your prayers and the blessed ones smile upon you and father sun knows of your thoughts as well as the hawks who now call out their greeting to you.  Hear them sister for they too acknowledge your presence as you have acknowledged ours.  And the deer are happy for the apples and would like for you to bring more.”

Then i asked if there were ceremonies held up there.  And what I heard was, “Plenty” and with that the explanation that it was like what is called the ghost dance which is a dance or ceremony to ask for the help and blessings of the ancestor spirits.

I sit on a bed of dry leaves at the end of fall; the start of winter–trees are bare and exposed.  They show their unique shapes–arms, breasts, some with double trunks, some with arms twisted by the winds who have shaped them.  Their arms reach out toward one another, some embracing while others seem to bow in homage to their fellow trees.  Some trees seem to be about 60 feet tall.  Each one unique, special with its own personality–some with faces–some with lips kissing.  They are alive!  Alive as much as any human–less animated of course but their branches are lively and dancing in the wind–it is very becoming for them. 

They are ALIVE! Conscious! As much as any human! (maybe moreso in some cases)

Thick vines wrap around some trees creating arches and loops.  Knobs on tree trunks are different unique faces much like human brothers/sisters.  Peaceful presence.  Sturdy–looking at you, at one another–observing and communicating with their energy, with each other.  I sit upon the earth where their trunks sink into the soil looking up at their haunting skeletal silhouettes and know they are my friends–we acknowledge each other.  Their energy bands (rays) wrap around me helping me to ground into earth’s soil just as they do; yet, I look up to the sun to the direction of the top branch–the very tip-top–and then scanning down… I could stay in this place in this way forever.  I have somehow before, I have and wonder if I am remembering once being a tree–could that be?  or did I live alone in the wood and the trees were my only contacts?  It feel it within me–it was a good life then.  I wonder about that and try to remember…

I breathe in harmony and send it out to the world, and then love, and then happiness, and then peace and then…

The sun is descending toward the tree line at next mountain over and has reached the tree line and suddenly, it is noticeably darker.  I must hike down the steep descent before I cannot see the way down.  The trees along with trail down are spaced in such a way that they provide convenient hand holds to compensate for gravity pulling me forward severely.  I’m aware of the cars going by on the highway and am entering back into the world of humans again.  I always stop, turn, look up and wave several times on my way down.  I feel like I am saying goodbye to close friends and really hate to leave, know that I have to, and promise to come back again.  “Goodbye my friends; I love you guys; I’ll be back as soon as I can be.” 

I wanted to end this with an observation and perhaps a moral or lesson is part of it.  What i mean is that if you’ve been following this blog, you know that I had a trauma when the man across the street massacred trees.  I’m sure to some readers this would sound silly and I can understand that.  The greater point is that I’m realizing that what happened was that something was removed from my life (the trees across the road) but it was replaced by something much better–the mountain top of trees and a totally private place to be and surrounded by trees from every direction!  It is a reminder (yet another one) that when one door closes, another opens OR in this case, when some trees are taken away, other trees surround me!  Well, you get the idea, right?

For the benefit of the christian readers, here is a little bit about YULE TREES.  The Celtic Druids venerated evergreen trees as manifestations of deity and as symbols of the universe. To the Celts, these trees were sacred because they did not die from year to year like deciduous trees. Therefore they represented the eternal aspect of the Goddess who also never dies. Their greenery was symbolic of the hope for the sun’s return.

The Druids decorated the evergreen trees at Yule with all the images of the things they wished the waxing year to bring. Fruits for a successful harvest, love charms for happiness, nuts for fertility, and coins for wealth adorned the trees. These were forerunners to many of the images on today’s Christmas trees. Candles were the forerunners of today’s electric tree lights.

The church confiscated this druid tradition as well as many others and converted it into christian church tradition.  Most people know that–its called history but HERstory is more truthful.  🙂

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Talks with Trees

JapaneseMaple
This picture reminds me so much of one of my old tree friends from many years ago

Maybe if I had a Native American Indian name, it would be “Talks With Trees”.

I really can’t blame some of you who might think I’m a little bit off my rocker talking with trees.

Frankly, I’d have thought the same thing 15 years ago.

But then if Kevin Costner can get away with Dances With Wolves, why can’t I believably talk with trees?

The Times They Are A-Changin as Bob Dylan would say. People these days are generally much more willing to admit that they not only talk to their plants, but to their trees too.  Fifteen years ago? Not so much.

I’m remembering my early conversations with a tree.  One time, after having one of many daily chats, a particular old tree told me that it was going to be cut down.  And, yes, trees converse just like humans do–believe it or not.  At least that’s been my experience.  I used to stop for a shady rest under this one particular tree half-way through my daily walks in those days.  That was back when I lived in heat-ravaged Florida.  This tree was like an oasis in a desert for me, located at just the right point in my walk where I needed the cool relief it provided.  Its trunk was huge and its long, leafy arms seemed to be trying to reach across the empty field in which it was centered.  Its name!  I can’t remember its name right now, but it definitely had one.  Maybe by the time I finish this post the name will come to me.  How could I have forgotten it?

This tree was my friend and we both enjoyed our daily visits.  I’d purposefully lean up against its trunk as some of its lower willow-type, leafy arms shielded me from view of the street.  It was like this tree’s lower branches would embrace me and I felt safe beneath its protective limbs.

As I approached it from the distance of my walk, I could see its magnificent aura reach outward and upward toward the heavens.  What was his name?  Well, anyway he told me that he would be cut down and I didn’t believe it.  I wrote it off to my own fear-thoughts and denied what I heard.  I’d have been devastated if it actually happened.  Besides, there was no reason for it; the field had been empty for years and there was no construction anywhere in sight.  I argued. The spirit of the tree comforted me explaining that it was ready to return.  Just like a human at the end of a long life, it was ready for a change.

Years later, after moving away I returned for a visit.  It was painfully clear that the tree had spoken the truth.  I’m glad I wasn’t around when it happened.  A road was put in across that field connecting a new bridge–he was gone.  Evidently, trees can know their future.  Pretty amazing.

This tree used to give me messages from Spirit.  A tree that channels!  Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?  Yeah, I hear ya’.  But I promise you I’m not making this up.  I wish that I could remember his name–darn it!  Anyway, I used to lean against his truck and could feel a surge of energy and something like an exchange occured.  It was as if he was drawing out energy into the earth on my behalf somehow and then re-energizing me. Sometimes, I’d pour out my problems to my friend and then integrate the wisdom from nature that he offered in return.  Of course, I never talked about this to anyone.  And actually, now that I think of it, this is the first time I am.   I guess that it just never came up before.  What brought it to mind was a recent conversation I had with my maple trees.

Years later, after having moved to the mountains, I came across a cute little book in a metaphysical bookstore. Talks with Trees; A Plant Psychic’s Interviews with Vegetables, Flowers and Trees by Leslie Cabarga.  After reading it, there was no doubt that I wasn’t the only person having these types of conversations.  An adorable little book by the way.

Anyway, now I can finally get to the point of what I wanted to blog about in the first place.  The other day I was trimming the overgrown grass around the feet of one of the 3 maple trees located in the front yard.  It was a dreamy and untypically cool July day brimming with gentle summer breezes.  As I was well into the task and enjoying the weather I heard, “thank you” coming from the tree.  I was a bit surprised, not expecting a conversation to ensue. “I didn’t realize you cared about this kind of thing”, I said.  The tree replied that it liked to be trimmed and looking nice just like the rest of the yard.  “What do you know!  Really?  Well, you’re very welcome”, I said. This particular tree spoke to me once before, complaining a bit that the other 2 trees had ornaments of some kind. It wanted something special beneath its branches too.

You see, one of the trees has a solar light on a shepherds hook underneath it and the other has wind chimes dangling from a branch. But that particular tree had nothing special to adorn it. I promised to take care of that.  Today I bought a little decorative bird house and hung it on one of his lower branches, finally fulfilling his request.  I didn’t hear him say anything, but I’m sure he appreciated it.

I don’t know why I am using personal pronouns in the masculine when referring to trees.  I don’t necessarily consider trees as either male or female.  It just seems easier to pick a gender with the telling of this tale.

But I didn’t finish telling you about these 3 maple trees.  Let’s go back.  When I got to the middle tree to clip the grass and sapling shoots from around its base I heard, “I’m the closest to the road!” And there seemed to be some enthusiasm with that statement.  Before hearing that I was pretty much caught up in my own thoughts, clipping away.  Again, the sudden dialogue startled me.

I stood upright, stepped back and looked at the position of all three trees with a surveyed glance.  And sure enough, this tree actually was a little closer to the road than the others.  I’d never really noticed that before.

I thought something like, “Well, that’s nice but what’s your point?”  The tree explained that since he’s little closer to the road than the other 2, he does a better job of absorbing the carbon monoxide from the cars going by on the highway.

One thing that I realized through my years of conversing with trees is that they take their service to humanity pretty seriously–just like a human counterpart would with their profession.  And they are so happy to be recognized or acknowledged when a human walks by and says hello.  And they especially like it when they overhear a human remarking how beautiful they are.  Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re talking about their ego in any way.  I’m not sure if trees have egos in the first place.  It’s just that they’re thrilled when they’re acknowledged by the humans that they serve.

Once, after the remnants of a hurricane turned tropical storm came through, a group of trees told me how they worked really hard all night long absorbing the wind.  Accompanying that was the feeling that taking up the wind (and the rain too) was a really important job.

The name of the tree in Florida that was cut down is beginning to come to my mind. I remember the word “light” in the name which I believe was associated with this tree’s huge white aura.  Well, it’s after 3 am.  I began this post because I was unable to sleep.  Besides, it’s been on my mind to make this post all week anyway.  Ring of Light–that was that tree’s name! Ring of Light!  I’m so glad I remembered.

Anyway, next time you pass by a tree, consider saying hello–won’t you?   You don’t have to say it out loud, just speaking it in your mind is fine–they’ll hear you!  Nothing makes them happier than when a human acknowledges them.  Trust me on that–I know because they told me.  Besides, the psychic who wrote that book says the very same thing.

If you stop a moment and listen the trees will talk to you too!

I THINK that I shall never see  
A poem lovely as a tree.  
  
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest  
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;  
  
A tree that looks at God all day,          
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;  
  
A tree that may in summer wear  
A nest of robins in her hair;  
  
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;  
Who intimately lives with rain.   
  
Poems are made by fools like me,  
But only God can make a tree.     –Joyce Kilmer
PS — Another tree name is River of Dreams — another old friend of mine who told me his name… another story for another day.