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| The Ancient Cedar Tree that Became My Sanctuary in the California Hills |
This posting is a segment of my ongoing series Two Weeks in an American Ashram begun in November 2012. To see the previous entries just scroll down or click on Journal Archive at the right.
“Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes space
around you.
Let the darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,
what batters you becomes your
strength.
move back and forth into the change…
In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of
your senses,
the meaning discovered there…”
Rilke*
There are over a thousand acres to be free in. I walk. I am a wanderer in the hills of this intentional community. The rolling oak strewn, mesquite tangle of central California is my land today. I wander and survey all that I steward with presence and remembrance.
I walk for miles, through savanna and forest. I traipse
through the village of people who have chosen to live in a binding freedom with
each other. This place of farms and frictional unity. This splatter of homes
that have stood through forest fires and schisms and holy blessings for over
forty years.
I wander through the central square of the community and its
humble collection of white clapboard houses. I walk by the little shops full of
gems and amulets of astral magnetism. I wander past the temples and the altars.
Then through the herd of goats and deep into the woods.
In the middle of all of this community and beauty I feel
that familiar voice, a tinge of I am alone, even here.
Which I now believe is a spell I have woven deep into the tangle of my life.
I am more than half way through my time here. Halfway in any endeavor often is a time of resistances. Today I am
tired of the sacred songs. I feel non-pulsed by the lofty texts. I am slightly
wary of the people that smile at me. And yet… And yet, I know that this is real
here. There is family here. That community of virtue and devotion is real on
this earth. A tug occurs between the old and the new within me.
So much of the world’s pain has come with me, even here. I need to let that go.
So much of the world’s pain has come with me, even here. I need to let that go.
“Just breathe” I tell myself.
I take in three circles of breath. I feel the wind move in spirals
through my sinuses. I feel the welling of living air in my lungs. I taste the
happiness of release as I exhale. Then I hear the clouds moving through the
trees. I am standing beneath a mighty cedar. This being is gnarled from storms,
burnt from lightning, bruised by man and his machines. Yet it continues to stand here.
Magnificent. Ten feet across. And perhaps 180 feet tall.
I lean into the tree. I sit. I watch the land and empty myself
the best I can. But I continue pondering and recalling the old spell that wends
its way through me: I am alone.
I think of my father, as I often do at these times, how I miss him. I think of the family who has declined to speak with me and won’t tell me why. But I don’t spiral any further into the inner night. A voice clear and ringing rises up through the wisdom of my body. The voice is from someone who is beyond all names. He speaks:
I think of my father, as I often do at these times, how I miss him. I think of the family who has declined to speak with me and won’t tell me why. But I don’t spiral any further into the inner night. A voice clear and ringing rises up through the wisdom of my body. The voice is from someone who is beyond all names. He speaks:
“You’ve known no father. I would be your father, in a family
of love, right here, inside this time, inside me.”
I answer the voice: “Please be patient with me. The
sadness is deep in this world. I want to grow closer to you.”
And the reply: “I am eternal, outside of time. Patience is
not even a reality of need for me. Remember, the kingdom belongs to the
prodigal. What has abandoned you on earth will never harm you in the ascension
of now.”
Profound, mysterious and yet clear words.
A simple peace moved all around me. When I breathed in again,
peace took root as a small seedling within me. Much like this ancient sentinel
of a tree that began so small and now touches the clouds. I knew that I must have patience with myself. And I saw
glimpses of love that is real and true and lasting… right here, right now.
Rick
*Rilke From Sonnets of Orpheus, Part Two XXIX
Selection from Rainer Maria Rilke's In Praise of Mortality, p. 132
Trans: Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
Copyright Richard Sievers January 2013, All Rights Reserved
