In the last year, I’ve written much about druid tree workings, or the spiritual work one can do with trees and other plants. For more on this series, see these posts: the face of the tree, connecting with trees on the inner planes, connecting with trees on the outer planes. And there comes a time when one of your tree friends–or many–face cruel reality of the chainsaw. What then, does one do when one hears the cry of the forest? This, dear readers, is a very different kind of tree working, and one that I’ve been compelled to share.
The sound of the chainsaw and the cry of the forest…
I recently moved into a new rented house in the small town in Western PA where I’ll spend the next phase of my life. In my tiny backyard and on the side of the house are several beautiful sugar maples. I met the new owners of the house next door (they also just moved in), and they mentioned to me how they were having a tree cut that was growing sort of close to the house. Deeply saddened, I told them it was a sugar maple, an if they just trimmed it back, it was no danger to their house, and if they’d like, I could show them how to tap it for maple sugar and make syrup in the late winter. They seemed interested, and I had hoped I had hoped that I’d convinced them that this life was worth saving…but alas, it was to no avail. Less than a week later, the tree men arrived. At first, it appeared that they were just carefully trimming it back, and I was joyous because I felt like I had saved the tree. But then, on the tree cutters’ break, I spoke with them, and they told me that they were bringing it down. They were sad to cut it too, cause they thought they could have just trimmed it and it was no danger to the house.
A few weeks after that, for whatever reason, my town decided to cut down a number of very old trees lining the sidewalks. Again the sound of the chainsaw reverberates through town. I’ve always dreaded the sound of fossil fuel powered equipment–its the sound of humanity cutting back nature, and it brings tears to my eyes. From the lawnmower cutting back ecological succession and compressing the soil to the weed whacker cutting down (nearly always) medicinal herbs, to my least favorite, the buzz of the chainsaw.
And so, with unnerving frequency, I’ve had the sound of chainsaw reverberating in my small house, and I have watched as several beautiful beautiful beings have been taken down one limb at a time. It is such a heartbreaking thing, to be so powerless, to simply watch a life being ended, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it. What a strange world we live in. To most people, they see a tree being cut. To me, I see a living and beautiful being, with a soul and a spirit. I see that being crying out in pain, I hear its sorrow, I feel its pain. I feel the mourning of the fellow sugar maples and others around–they have grown here as a community for years. And now, their friend is no more, removed unjustly and unnecessarily, the wood unused and carted away.
A way of seeing and feeling…
Of course, my druidic lens is not that of typical people these days living in an instrumental and disenchanted world. Plants and trees feel pain? The arguments I see against this idea is that plants have no central nervous system or brain, so they can’t feel pain, they can’t communicate, they aren’t intelligent. However, just because plants don’t have the same systems as humans doesn’t mean they can’t feel or communicate those feelings, in fact, plants have analogous systems that work differently from ours.
This instrumentalist thinking, that plants or trees are mere objects, and that nobody should care or object to having them taken down, closely aligns with a disenchanted, instrumental view of the world. As I’ve shared on this blog before, one of the great losses to the western world came as our worldview was “disenchanted” through the rise of industrialization, materialism and rationalist science (and oh the irony, that is now science that shows that the world is really more enchanted than we can imagine!) Looking to some of the newest science to help us understand, since that’s what convinces people when other ways of experiencing the world can’t, we see that plants are intelligent–they learn, much as humans do. Plants communicate, sometimes over great distances. And yes, they feel pain and know if they are being eaten.
And so, we use the knowledge of science to explain what millennia of humans instinctively knew: that our world is living, breathing, intelligent and alive and that trees and plants and animals are feeling, breathing, alive beings deserving of respect.Of course, spiritual traditions and cultures spanning back across most of time have known that plants are more than a collection of living cells. Its not new knowledge–its simply misplaced knowledge, lost to time and greed. And perhaps its time that we find that knowledge again.
Holding Space & Remembering
The powerlessness over something like a tree in a neighbor’s yard being cut down can be crushing. In a situation where humans are logging or engaging in other destruction and its done legally or within privately owned lands, what’s one to do?
One of the best things you can do for a being–of any kind–who is suffering or passing on is to hold space for them. Whether or not you have a spiritual calling for deeper work in this area, I believe all of us can at least hold space for what is happening, see it for what it is, and energetically support those whose lives are being taken before our eyes. You might do this by treating the tree or forest no different than a friend who is passing on. The same powerlessness exists in that situation as well. You can’t do much except be there, listen, witness, and hold the space.
I could speak about this at length, but each person’s methods for doing this work are, in some ways, their own. They are methods that develop as the need arises, intuitive things that each person does that is to the best of his or her abilities and gifts.
I can share a few strategies that are within my abilities and gifts. Its not so much important what you do but that you do something if you feel led to–but here are a few ideas. First, I play music, and I have particular songs (folk songs) that are quite effective at easing suffering and allowing a more peaceful passing. The music is really effective for another reason–it can be used almost anywhere, especially when more overt magical work cannot take place. Second, I take the time to simply sit, witness, and watch what is happening unfold. This is important–bearing witness. Third, I raise positive energy for the tree’s passing (and there are many ways to do this, depending on one’s tradition). Fourth, I do positive energy work for the others who have passed in the coming weeks and months–many are still there, they may have witnessed the loss, and they need support. Fifth, I apologize to the tree as it is cut, especially when a tree appears to be cut down for no good reason (as in the case of my new neighbors). An apology does much in the way of healing, and as a species, there is much healing to be done between ourselves and the land.
And finally, I remember. There are so many ways that one can remember. As I am an artist, I often paint trees that have been cut as a way of remembering them and their lives. Some stumps I pass quite often, and, each time I pass, I say a little prayer, make a small offering of water, or leave a flower or stone to honor the tree. Or simply walk by and touch the stump, pausing and acknowledging the life that was once there. If I can, I like to save some of the tree’s seeds or nuts and plant them in a field somewhere–this is a wonderful thing to honor a tree who has passed. This isn’t always possible, but if nothing else, I take a few leaves or branches and leave them in a nearby forest so that at least some of that tree can go back to the land and enter the nutrient cycles once again–this too is important. If nothing else, I burn a candle and honor the life that was that tree or that forest.
Sometimes you come after the trees or trees have been cut, but an area is freshly logged. Nearly all of my suggestions above will still work well. I like to keep a small flute in my car and if I see such an area and feel compelled to stop, I will stop, play a tune, and then continue on my way. I find myself doing this often now that I’ve returned to Penn’s Woods, especially given the amount of logging that takes place here.
There is much more that I could write at this point, but I feel that, for now, this is enough. I hope you find it helpful. I will close by warning you that this work is not taken on lightly–and it can be very draining, even with proper preparation and protection. Even so, its important work, and work that some are called to do, just as I’m now called to write and share.