Seeds of Insight 018 - What would a tree say?

Dear You,

As trees are burning in the Amazonian forest, I am slowly raising my awareness around the horror of Brazilian politics and corporate interests involved. I have to admit, I was fairly ignorant to begin with…
The next question that naturally comes is what to do. Pray for rain? Donate? Stop eating meat (if you haven’t)? Read? All of these things and more? The natural feelings that arise are heartbreak, helplessness, anger.

But if we had one thing to learn from trees, it is the opposite of protest or anger. Trees don’t move in the face of misfortune. They don’t tell stories of injustice. They don’t blame us for our ignorance. They just are - tirelessly producing oxygen without reason, without attachment to outcomes and without need to please. They don’t wonder whether to blossom or not. They don’t hold on to their fruit, nor grudges. Quietly, they inspire us every day, from uncovering gravity (Newton’s apple tree) to realising the Self (the Buddha’s bodhi tree), wanting nothing in return. 
Perhaps the events in the Amazon are calling us to make changes in our own little ‘garden’. What is done in the rain forest at massive scale is a reflection of what happens in our own lives, in our own psyches. We all experience greed. We all do subtle inner plots to get what we we need or want. We all are manipulative and deceptive. We all lie, a number of times a day! Yes, there is a Brazilian cattle-farming and meat-producing industry in every one of us. 
Until we see and welcome these uncomfortable sides of our own egos, the world will keep reflecting them back to us. The collective unconscious is also our own and we CAN change that, without resistance and anger.  Ultimately, it is our wounded self raging a war against itself, waiting to be experienced in all of its inglorious form.


A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears.
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles.
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
— William Blake

With Love,

The Seed.


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