The tree and the rain are old friends

The deep flow of water nurturing life along the Murchison River is in Nanda country. I offer my respect to the Nanda people and their ancestors, who are of this land, its waters and spirit. May their songs be heard and the trees ever grow.

July 15th, 2009

I was going to wimp out, my poor chilblained toes were boycotting my dawn ritual. But the tree and the outside drew me to them. I compromised – kept on socks, put on clogs, stayed on the cement path – no rock hopping through the garden today.

I scooped water from the bowl, took lighted incense and stood beneath the tree, pouring water, placing the fire stick, saying the words; then I turned my face up, and the softest rain was sprinkling down upon me. I opened my mouth and felt the gift of the sky, just as the tree stands and receives, so too, did I stand and receive.

The tree and the rain are old friends, I felt their relationship and it was a sense of them giving me a place in their world – welcoming me into their niche, their space – me who moves on two legs, running this way and that, doing all sorts of odd, unnatural things. They welcomed me home, the tree and the rain, to just be within their simplicity. It was a moment beautiful. Merci.