The tree that lived

or, the dance of life and death

A wisened old Grandpapa tree, a majestic English Sycamore, lived alongside the ancient ruins of Hadrian’s Wall in the north of England for over a century. Battered by wind and rain and scorched by the sun, he gifted shelter and beauty to the many that passed by. Countless travellers would sit with him, finding a moment of solitude and connection to their own English heritage. He enjoyed their company, marvelled in all the changes he saw as each generation drew close, and was held tightly in the hearts of many.

Then one day, like thieves in the night, two men with a chainsaw came to visit, and in minutes, Grandpapa tree lay on the ground, severed from his source of life.

Outcry, grief, a call for restoration, and demands for justice followed, but restitution was a lost hope. Decay came to collect him, returning him to the earth and the soil and sediment of his ancestors.

I felt the pain of this felling, but also knew that there was more to this tale. I settled deeply into a meditative state, journeyed to the tree, and I asked the question: ‘What really happened here?”

“I’m old” Grandpapa tree told me.

“I have seen so much!

“But my branches are heavy now. I can’t give the shelter I once did. My roots are sore, and I am tired. I want to be young again, I want to feel the surge of new growth. Oh to be a sapling once more! I want to burst forth and reach for the sky. I want a new dawn, I want a new life.”

As I listened, I understood. I understood the need we all have for change, for rebirth; for the desire to let go of the old and become the new. The feeling of sore bones and the longing for the vigour of youth. The chance to start again.

So the Grandpapa tree called out to his Creator.

“Bring me those that will end my time here. Bring me those that will do it swiftly, and with no remorse. A good-hearted man will not do, as he will never acquiesce to my request. Send me a wounded man, and let his anger fell me to the ground. Great Creator, let me be renewed.”

And the men, whose souls had heard the call, came. They came with wounded hearts, their own need for recognition and love unmet.

“We do not have the love that you have,” they said, “so why should you? You are championed, you are adored, yet we remain unseen! You shall not have this love, we shall take it, and the world will know us.” And in their anger, in their fear, and in their pain, they felled the mighty sycamore in the dead of night.

In the morning, as the sun’s rays spread across the prostrate branches, the world was changed, and the beautiful dance of death and life began. Quietly, away from all the noise, a new life appeared. While the people mourned the loss of this giant of the landscape, a soft seed buried deep beneath the ageing roots began to stretch and push its way towards the light. And like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Grandpapa tree had his wish.

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