I, the human, the gardener…
Day 47 of my tree puja.
Why can’t I connect with the tree today? I suggest a few theories.
I felt separate, so I started weeding. I, the human, the gardener, the controller, the one who kills, and cuts, and pulls out by the roots…
Sit Quietly and Listen
Day 40 of my tree puja. The surging energy engulfs me, welcoming me into its organic totality of self.
Birds are singing and racketing all around. Lapwings call to one another, while smaller songbirds trill away in the background. I imagine the vibrations we sit amongst, the tree and me.
The Flow of Life
Day 34 of my tree puja. I belong in the flow of life.
Underfoot – cold and wet and squishy. Air, cool and grey in the dawn. All around – sounds of life waking...
The tree ignored me completely.
Day 25 of my tree puja. Dawn is the traditional time for the spiritual practice of yoga and meditation, when we are transitioning from the unconsciousness of sleep to the activities of the day. There is a special atmosphere of peace and quiet which we become part of. Today I discover the power of that time, by missing it.
I went after sunrise when it was light; it was too late…
I felt the tree as Mother Nature
Day 24 of my tree puja, in which I experience the tree’s embrace as Mother Nature.
A rooster in the distance, birds awakening – the dawn always reminds me of India, for in India I am always outside at dawn.
I listened, sound by sound
Day 22 of my tree puja. The tree stands within the activity of air.
I heard the sounds of dawn and tried to imagine not hearing them but experiencing their vibrations, as the tree does and as we do too.
Because my head needs sorting out.
Day 20 of my tree puja. I use the tree puja to help me move on from the death of my teacher.
…looked up through its naked arms to the remaining stars, planets, the simmering light of dawn and said, I’m out of here, as the cold ate into my pink skin, and bits of wet stuff stuck to me.
…as tired night lets go and day edges in.
Day 16 of my tree puja. In case you are wondering, the winter of 2009 was one of the wettest on record in Hobart. Stay with me, because eventually Spring bursts upon the scene! We’ve a way to go yet though.
I move from the inside realm, and into the presence of pre-dawn, still and pregnant, as tired night lets go and day edges in…
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