“Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.”
I sat on the big, red rocking chair on my porch this morning, reading Samuel’s English classroom rules. Simply stated, one step after another, one guideline and future assignment building upon the next.
I rocked a moment, looking toward the horizon over my neighbor’s roof and wondered about the day yet to fully arrive. I thought about myself, yet to fully arrive. I looked at the leaves on the mulberry tree who has faithfully offered me shade and more than enough arguments with my neighbors for more than twenty seven years now.
Now I look at the plants on my living room mantel, seeing one that was in the Virginia Woolf room where Emma has been living since she returned from the East Coast. Yesterday I noticed my plant, faded and dried up. “My plant,” I said, a whine in my voice.
“You didn’t tell me to water it,” Emma countered, with a voice even sadder than mine.
“It’s ok,” I whispered. “Just give it to me. I’ll water it, I’m sure it will be ok.”
As I prepared to begin writing, I looked up quotes about trees and found the one below from Joyce Meyer and I hesitated to use it because of her affiliations and worried she might be a part of the vociferous hate streaming out of the vitriol within the hearts of some of the people across my country.
My heart literally hurt at those thoughts.
What has become of us and what will become of us?
I overslept the tiniest bit this morning and didn’t move for too long of a time.
What shall I do first?
The thought came back. “One foot after another. Repeat.”
So this is what I have done, in attempt to keep the depression beasts in their pens and bring out any shred of evidence of all-rightness I can muster.
In trees leaves I hear God-sounds. That’s what Albert Schweitzer must have heard in the trembling of the leaf. He is one of my dead-man crushes so I know he wouldn’t lead me astray. A scientist philosopher, a close observer who reports evidence rather than tangential, second-hand thrice told tales.
I look at the mulberry tree outside the window where I type now for five minutes (and perhaps one extra one.) I see the light of sunrise filtering through her leaves. I see a volunteer bush pushing through my lavender and wonder how I may most effectively replant it.
I believe putting one foot in front of another in a forward moving direction will also move me and my life in the direction that compels and delights me. We can do this. Let’s.
“Consider a tree for a moment. As beautiful as trees are to look at, we don’t see what goes on underground – as they grow roots. Trees must develop deep roots in order to grow strong and produce their beauty. But we don’t see the roots. We just see and enjoy the beauty. In much the same way, what goes on inside of us is like the roots of a tree.”
Julie Jordan Scott inspires people to experience artistic rebirth via her programs, playshops, books, performances and simply being herself out in the world. She is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy-extraordinaire and mixed media artist whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people’s creative lives. Watch for the announcement of new programs coming in soon!
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