The Biggest Baddest Tree

James saw himself pick up the chainsaw from the damp grassy meadow at his feet.

It was almost as if he were having an out of body experience yet he knew this was as real as what he had for breakfast. Four eggs, half a pound of bacon, three pieces of toast, a grilled tomato and two glasses of orange juice. Damn! Focus, Dude. From where he stood in the field overlooking the forest, it was still safe. He peered into the woods not one hundred feet away. It was dark and damp within the trees and there were heavy clouds hanging overhead as if grasping the top of the forest with soft, damp hands.

It's not as if I've never been in there before, he thought.

James took his first steps with slight trepidation. He glanced suspiciously at the orange-yellow saw in his hand as if it might have suddenly taken leave of him. It was still there. He double checked the extra can of gasoline strapped to his back. With more purpose, he strode toward the woods. He knew there were allies in there. He also knew of the defenders of the tree. Oh, they wouldn't kill him and their trickery and magic and conniving would certainly set him off his task if he didn't concentrate.

The ogres were the worst, he mused. They smelled like raw sewage mixed with skunk. And their breath would kill... well... an ogre. Once I was past the ogres, the ghosts and the field of poison ivy, I would be fine... I think. At least I had the wolves, hawks and rabbits on my side.

The forest engulfed him almost immediately. Clouds, seemingly sensing something was afoot, moved lower creating a damp haze close to the ground. The path to the gnarled old tree was never a question; head straight for the heart. It was where it all began. James had seen the tree on a few occasions when he was removing other diseased trees. The bark was grey and scarred, it was flat along the top as if it were pushed down by the hand of God though he knew it was simply the illness afflicting it. It spread far and wide. There were more than a dozen large branches emanating from the twisted, stubby trunk. The patchy clusters of leaves were a coppery, green but they didn't really shimmer. The light they appeared to have was stolen from the energy of the forest.

The tree was the disease.

It was how the tree managed to survive. It drew energy from every corner of the forest stunting the growth of otherwise healthy trees. It seemed to reach everywhere like a black hole eating light.

As James stepped through the forest, damp leaves whispering at his feet, he recognized trees he had passed before. Near the edge were saplings he had planted recently and as he drew deeper into the woods, he saw trees he had planted months and years before. There colour and energy invigorated him... inspiring him to push on.

The forest became darker... wetter... sadder.

As the fog grew thick closer to the ground, he could hear the ogres echoed grunts in the distance. Did they know he was here? He pushed on single minded in his task. What will be, will be.

The abruptness of shapes passing silently through the woods around him took him by surprise. It wasn't the ogres. They were never quiet. More often than not they simply waited until a hapless victim wandered by. They were often lazy that way unless they became agitated. James expected agitated today. They wouldn't be quiet.

A moment after he noticed the shapes, the wolves morphed from the fog. James stopped for a moment and watched as the entire pack appeared. They were all varying shades of grey from almost white to almost pitch black. The largest of the pack came up to him, nuzzled his free hand and started ahead of him through the forest. The wolves would handle the ogres if it came to it. They were fleet of foot, quiet and worked as a team.

Wolves knew the meaning of family.

James followed the alpha male. The alpha female circled around behind him to make sure nothing came from the rear. The rag-tag team moved into the forest. James could feel the mist dampening his clothing and his hair. I hope the saw starts, he thought.

James heard the grunt before he saw the massive outline.

The ogre was on James and the wolves in the blink of an eye. It's grey-brown, pock marked skin glistening with droplets of mist. It let out a roar akin to a tormented elephant or buffalo. James skin crawled with the vibration of the bellowing beast. Somewhere in the distance James heard answering roars.

Yup. They're agitated. Crap! Time to go!

The wolves leaped in front of the ogre. James took off running, the alpha female and three other wolves at his side. The saw banged awkwardly against his thigh yet he managed to keep moving forward. The wolves kept his pace.

Branches whipping around him caught his bare skin yet James continued to scramble through the bush. He ignored the painful welts appearing across his face. The struggle behind him filled the forest with snarls from the wolves and bellows from the ogres. All the wolves had to do was keep the ogres away from him until the tree was down. After that, it was over. Easier said than done. Even as he ran he could feel his trembling heart. The ogre had taken him by surprise. What other surprises was he in for?

The forest was alive now. Everything here knew he was coming for the tree.

Even the tree knew.

It wasn't long before the clearing began to emerge ahead. James broke into the meadow. It was a field of mostly dead grasses and flowers with the life sucked out of them. The ground became soggier. The mist cleared then closed then cleared again. He could see the ring of poison ivy surrounding the massive tree at the centre. And he could hear the low moan of the ghosts. Three hawks landed on dead tree branches on the opposite side of the clearing; waiting. The hawks would handle the ghosts.

The rabbits hadn't appeared. Where were they?

As if on cue, the rabbits came out of the forest from behind him. They went straight for the poison ivy. This wasn't regular poison ivy. It was the spawn of the diseased tree. This ivy didn't just make a person itch. It burned like a hot poker. Unless, that is, you were a rabbit. Who knew rabbits ate poison ivy? James knew he wouldn't make it through the ivy on his own. The pain would be excruciating.

An ogre burst through the trees a hundred feet away. Eight long, thunderous strides with three wolves snarling at his heels and he was almost on top of James. James ducked as a wooden club swished over his head. The breeze of the club swing ruffled the hair raised on the back of his neck. He scrambled past the ogre and the wolves, the cacophony of snarling and bellowing ringing his ears. He glanced at the rabbits as he ran. Eat faster!

The ogre tried to turn as James rushed past. It slipped to the ground and the wolves were on it in an instant. The wolves couldn't kill an ogre. What they could do was inflict enough wounds to make the ogre back off.

As he ran, turning away from the scene of ogre and wolves, the first ghost flew through James. He recognized the ghost from his past just before it passed through him. In an instant a feeling of deep regret overcame him and he went to his knees. Damn it! He bowed his head in a sudden onslaught of shame. He glanced around and could see more ghosts. He recognized all of them. Self doubt filled him, shaking him to the core. I haven't even reached the damned tree yet! How can I do this? I don't know if I have it in me. I simply haven't... One of the hawks flew by, turned and landed on his shoulder with a whisper of wind from its wings. James turned toward the hawk who cocked his head to one side. It's yellow-orange eyes stared at him unblinking. Okay, he thought.

James looked around. The wolves were snarling and snapping at the ogre. Another ogre had appeared and was already down on the ground. The hawks were corralling the ghosts one by one. He saw the poltergeist. The one who had started all of this. The one who had planted the tree. If that one got to James, this fight was over. The hawks flew over his head in a protective shield. The rabbits were already half way through the ivy. The war raged around him. From somewhere deep inside, he drew the strength to get back to his feet. His clothes muddy and sodden, he took one step. Then another. And another. He looked at the ghosts, his face growing stern. This is the last time you take me down.

Another ogre appeared nearby. James started running again. The rabbits were almost through the ivy and James followed their trail. There was little fear in him now. Only determination. It was time. James made it to the tree moments after the rabbits had cleared a path through the ivy.

He heard the tree moan ominously. The first part of the war was happening behind him. This was his battle and his alone. The wind began to pick up whistling through the branches. Leaves swirled in the wind around him in dust devils that grew in intensity. The sky darkened further as more cloud settled in around the tree. The sun was almost completely blocked now. Dusk had settled over James and the massive tree.

You need me, the tree seemed to say.

I don't, James replied having a conversation in his mind.

The tree whispered back, I have been here for you all of your life. I have protected you. You hid in my branches and leaned on me when you were hurt. You cannot let me go.

I needed you long ago, James thought. Now... NOW... you are in my way. I have grown beyond you. I now have my own strength to lean on.

But I protected you!, The tree's whispers became a quiet plea.

James started the saw.

The wind whistled louder in the branches of the tree. The tree groaned angrily and its branches flailed, often narrowly missing James. The saw roared in his hands and ignoring everything happening around him, he cut off one of the massive branches. Sap began pouring out of the wound. It was blood red. A second branch swung violently in the wind catching James in the ribs. He was flung to the ground, pain shooting through his chest. He ignored the pain. Today was the day.

That branch was the next he cut off.

James continued to cut the branches off the tree. It wasn't long before he was covered in blood red sap, sawdust and blown leaves. The tree still struggled, the ogres and wolves still fought, the hawks kept the ghosts at bay and he focused on the trunk. It was massive. Over the years it had disfigured and twisted itself into a massive knot. Piece by piece he hacked at the trunk.

It seemed like hours before the tree began to sway. James kept hacking pieces out until finally the tree tumbled with a massive thud to the ground emitting one last mournful, gasping groan. He looked at the fallen tree. It wasn't over; not quite yet.

James stumbled over to the extra gasoline. It had separated itself from him when the branches caught him in the ribs. He was breathing heavily, bruised, lacerated and covered in the filth from a monumental struggle. As he poured gasoline over the downed branches and the massive trunk, his strength slowly came back. He carved several deep notches in the huge stump and poured gas as deeply in as possible. The roots have to die, he thought.

James stood back for a moment, thought a silent prayer, took an orange lighter from his pocket and lit each piece of the tree. The smoke whisked into the sky; gold, grey, brown and auburn. As each branch burned, the ghosts began to disappear. As the trunk burned, the ivy began to wilt. As the roots burned, the ogres fell to their knees.

James watched fire consume the tree. Both delight and fear filled him. The centrepiece was gone. That which he had lived with, breathed with, hidden behind and lamented over was gone.

After an indescribable amount of time, James backed away from the inferno. The tree no longer made any sound. The sap was no longer flowing. The forest around him was silent; peaceful. The wolves joined him at his side. All were battle worn; bruised and cut from the conflict. He turned and walked away when he was sure the tree was completely consumed in flame.

James walked from the darkness. The sky overhead was clearing and the trees of the forest whispered in a light breeze. The wolves accompanied him toward the edge of the woods where they would stay as his protectors. The hawks flew overhead, diving and soaring on the breeze. The rabbits had retreated back into the forest. They didn't find battles appealing. Only one remained behind; Walter. James smiled at Walter and he swore he got a smile back.

At the edge of the woods, James hesitated for a moment. Two tears rolled down his cheeks; one for the loss of something he had carried all of his life and a second for newly found freedom.

With one last glance over his shoulder and a contented smile, James stepped purposefully out of the woods.

Getting Engaged

I knew that would get your attention.

No, I am not shoving an errant-sized ring on anyone's finger. Nor am I seeking a finger attached to a curvy homo-sapiens to do so. I'm pretty happy where I'm at. Thanks for your thoughts and concerns though. They are duly noted.

For the record, I'm currently in advanced ninja type training to be a dirty old man with a permanent, lecherous grin anyway and that's an endeavour best done alone.

Vaguely along that line of rationale, I've been to two beautiful weddings this year. Neither one was what one might call traditional. The first was done in a manner which was reversed from the usual order of things and an officiant who might do well in stand-up. But then, my friend J has never been much for doing things by societal rote which is why we get along as well as we do. The second wedding was outdoors surrounded by burgeoning farmers fields with a friend of the bride and groom officiating. My friend V isn't much for strict tradition either. (I sense a pattern here.) The vows at both weddings were intimate love letters spoken aloud for all to hear.

Yup... a tear came to my eye. Anyone who knows me well enough wouldn't see that as a surprise.

I was talking with a friend the other night... on the phone. Can you imagine such an antiquated thing? Actually talking and hearing a voice? Wonder of wonders, neither of us died from the experience. During the call, they said, “Isn't it odd we talk so easily to one another about anything?”

Personally, I don't find it odd we can become engaged with another person. It's what we seek because it's in our DNA. In today's world of impersonal communication, is it any wonder we cling to a rare real voice? When we find someone who has a lot in common with us, whether they are next door or across the planet, our psyche will latch on somehow knowing we have unwittingly (or perhaps wittingly) found a member of our tribe. It doesn't matter what gender or race or creed or sexual orientation. It matters if they think and feel about the world and people and the universe the same way we do.

For the record, I choose to believe our tribe will find us... or vice versa... if we're open to it. Just sayin'.

Here's where I can only speak from personal experience. When I become engaged in conversation with another person at a fundamental level, it doesn't matter what we talk about. It could be a discussion about fixing the car or if the planet really is going to hell in a hand-basket. I hear and feel what they are saying. It's called empathy.

I know I'm not connecting if I'm thinking about my next response without hearing what they are saying.

I know I'm not connecting if I'm babbling just to hear my own voice.

I know I'm not connecting if I'm surfing channels or the net while the conversation is going on.

I know I'm not connecting if the other person is doing the surfing.

I know I'm not connecting if all we have is a few notes back and forth on social media.

Engaging with another person is personal. A voice at the end of a phone is always better than a text message... and a lot less misunderstood. At the same time, texting or e-mailing or a note through social media isn't a bad thing when starting off a conversation. It's a great way to send a grocery list or schedule a time to pick up the kids. It's a great way to reconnect after long absences before a phone call.

Personal conversation where the topic is important and voice inflection means something should always be done by phone or face to face.

It seems to me society as a whole has become so disengaged we can't see the trail back. It also seems to me the trail might start with a text message or an email... and end by hearing a voice and seeing a face.

The love letters at the weddings read face to face were probably the most meaningful engagement I have seen in a long while. I can't imagine how dispassionate the ceremonies would be if those love letters were sent by text.

Perhaps that's the secret to re-engaging... writing a letter and reading our heartfelt feelings aloud... face to face.

Namaste

Phone Calls From the Edge

I was on my own.

I was hiking along the Niagara Escarpment the other day. I'm a pretty capable hiker and comfortable in the woods. While I'm no adrenaline junky, there isn't much that gives me the willies. Just don't ask me to jump off a bridge with an oversized rubber band hog-tied to my ankles. A few photos I wished to snap were best taken along the rim. I stood at the edge looking downward along cold grey cliffs, shattered boulders strewn along the jagged base five hundred feet below from millenniums of erosion carving away unfortunate pieces of bluff, wind rustling the trees around me and a light rain dampening my footing and thought, “Huh. Bet that could hurt.”

I got the photos.

Risky, yes. Unconscionable, no. I trust myself and my ability to know where to draw the risk line; that place where calculated risk turns into asinine.

That same night I was on the phone with a friend. My conversations tend to wander all over the place, close to the cliff, if you will, as they found out soon enough. Like my life in general, there seldom seems to be a straight line to anywhere. People who can stick with me and my esoteric mind are treasured. My friend is one such person. They seem to be able to wait me out knowing, somehow, I'll circle around to the previous topic in due course. That takes trust on their part understanding I haven't lost sight of the subject... or them for that matter.

It also takes trust on my part that the person I'm talking with isn't going to get lost somewhere along my roundabout journey. The way I communicate, wandering around like a verbal drunkard spilling mixed metaphors along a quiet midnight street, is not an easy trail to follow. I seldom leave bread crumbs. Finding someone who communicates in the same abstruse manner I do... priceless. (And, I'm told, funny as hell to sit back and watch from a safe distance.)

It seems I write in a similar style to how I speak... or vise versa. I'm not sure which acme first... the chicken or the barbecue. Trust, and not becoming frustrated, is a big deal in such a conversation, largely due to what seems a lack of direction.

It occurred to me as the back and forth went on if I wish to understand my trust level with someone a few of things may occur. Firstly, when I'm asked a difficult question (the ones that make me glance around for a ticking nuclear device), how do I react. If I tense up getting ready for an explosion or retaliation, I'm probably getting defensive and not trusting. If I'm all loosey goosey and not too worried about what might be coming back, odds are pretty good I trust them.

Secondly, if I feel comfortable talking about virtually anything without feeling there may be retribution, then my trust level is high. When I start measuring my responses, it's the first indication I'm not trusting the other person to be able to handle what I really want to say (or how I wish to say it). I'm afraid of hurting them, waiting for the other shoe to drop or having them freak out... so I temper my responses.

It seems to me many intimate couple's relationships disappear into the vast, echo-less void this way... trust eroding piece by piece tinkling onto the ceramic kitchen floor.

Trust slips away slowly, chipped away by tiny comments, overly amplified responses, misinterpretation or trying to “fix” something undesirable in the other person. When the trust slips away, intimacy fritters away with it. Intimacy, (not physical intimacy, though that can be a victim as well) is only meted out when there is trust. Plain and simple. Oddly enough, the only way to gain trust back is... you guessed it... to become vulnerable which requires intimacy. It's the human paradox we call relationship.

Life is so much easier when trust isn't lost in the first place. Particularly self trust. If I don't trust myself to do what is best for me, I'll never fully trust anyone else... and intimacy will remain floating away just beyond the tips of my outstretched fingers.

Self trust is measured by the conversations I have with myself.

For me, it seems trust is grown by stepping to the edge, looking over the cliff and knowing there is someone there who will catch me if I slip... even if that slip is some random line of thought during a phone call.

How's that for a metaphor?

Namaste

Between a Rock...

We're stuck
Inside our own machine

from Apparitions by the Mathew Goode Band

Warning... weird shit... just sayin'.

Have you ever wondered how much of this is real?

I often wonder about things like reality, relationships, world events and why bacon tastes better crispy. But then I'm a pathological wonderer anyway. And I invent words like “wonderer” while contemplating the meaning of Quantum Mechanics, distance, versions of reality and why I'm here and not there because I secretly think I'm some Byzantine, pureed version of Shakespeare, Einstein, George Carlin and burnt toast rolled into an electrified vat of luminescent green goo.

Sometimes I just wake up mentally messy.

So... I'm out minding my own business doing my work thing on a weekday afternoon surrounded by Hugo Boss, Ann Taylor and squeaking patent leather in the downtown area when I happen across a man about my age talking to a rock. Not just any rock, mind you. A big, honkin' boulder. Kind of a cute, greyish sweetheart as boulders go, if you're into that kind of thing. What do I know from rocks? This one could have been a real hottie. Who am I to judge, ya know?

And the conversation, though one sided, was quite lucid and passionate.

It occurred to me our brains are capable of almost anything. I know not why this man's brain has morphed itself into it's own internalized world. Somewhere, the circuits crossed and a world of his own making began creating itself. Or... are they crossed at all? Clinically, this man would likely be diagnosed, in simple terms, as insane though, in his brain, he is not insane at all.

Which begs the question, who's reality is real?

Insane people don't know they're insane. They have their own reality and that experience is as concrete to them as ours is to us.

Which brings me to me. How do I know my reality is the real reality? How do I know I'm not making this all up and what I think is real is simply an internalized movie running incessantly on a loop through alternately misfiring synapses while I'm wearing a lovely white coat with leather straps, buckles, extra long sleeves and arms bow-tied neatly in back? For all I know I, myself, could very well be talking to a padded wall in a brightly lit room while believing I'm watching some dude talk to a slightly balding rock and thinking he's insane.

Perhaps that person I met a while ago or that place I was or that feeling I experienced is no more than a figment of my overly fertile imagination. ~shrug~

I think I can be certain I am in “reality” because I have questions. Those who have created a world of their own likely have few questions. For any problem which may arise in their self-created world, the brain simply creates a solution. Done.

Somewhere along this exploration, Quantum Physics popped into my head.

If our brains are capable of inventing entire internalized world's of our own, why can we not do the same externally? Science has proven we can manipulate particles simply by observing them. Science has also proven particles can be in two places at once. When we dream (or daydream) it's our way of our psyche taking us places we are not but want to be. If Quantum Physics Theory is capable of putting one particle in two places and I am capable of manipulating the result, then I can be in two places at once. Further, if you happen to be dreaming the same thing at the same moment, then we could conceivably be hanging out together. Add in an emotional connection and all hell can break loose!

Which means, in some dual conceived dream, I could very well be sitting on the sofa next to you watching Big Bang Theory reruns. Pass the Doritos, will ya?

As weird as all this seems, there is quite a lot of empirical evidence we can create our own reality. Have you chosen happiness? Have you chosen someone to be with (even if only in your mind)? Have you chosen serenity? Have you chosen your life or simply hoped it would work out? Have you chosen to stay in reality?

Are you where you want to be or are you daydreaming of being somewhere else... with someone else... doing something else? Have you chosen ordinary... or extraordinary?

I suspect those questions may well be between you and a slightly balding rock.

Gotta ask yourself the question, 

where are you now?

from Wiseman by James Blunt

It Just Feels Right

I can only speak my point of view,

Because it's the only one I've lived.

I'm going to write much more personally today. (Sometimes I do, sometimes I generalize.) I'm feeling as if a part of me which was dormant for a while has come back to life.

The instigator of this... umm... awakening (?)... is nothing more, or less, than remnant thoughts dripping onto the page from weekend reflections on a long ride home last night. As I often do when I'm driving alone down a dark desert highway (cool wind in my hair), I reflect on where I've just been and what I may have learned while there.

More often than not it's goofy shit. (How many of you now have a Hotel California in the back of your head?)

If any of this post resonates with the reader, great. If not, that's okay too. It's my shit anyway.

For clarity's sake, I went to a wedding in Wisconsin this past weekend. I was asked a few times about the long drive for a single weekend. My answer was simple: it was Vicki. There are certain people I have connected with over my fifty-four years for whom, even if we haven't seen each other for some time, I will step up. In Vicki and Greg's case, I was honored to have been asked to attend their wedding in the first place and they are important enough to me to make the effort to be there. Some of the looks and comments I received were akin to, “Really? You drove all that way for a wedding and some kayaking? Weird.”

Personally, I find it weird when people don't put that kind of effort into friendships (in particular, chosen family).

Perhaps I'm a bit of an anomaly in a “what's in it for me” world.

I went to the wedding stag not knowing more than half a dozen people in a foreign country where the people I did know were going to be occupied for most of the event. They were getting married after all. Basically I was left to my own devices, which is perilous enough under normal circumstances.

I used to be a wallflower at these shindigs. If I didn't know anyone, I would hang back and watch the world go by. There's an old saying about sitting on your porch and the whole world will eventually pass by. While that may be true, my ass gets sore if I spend too much time sitting in one place. I'm not sure lethargy is a particularly noble life goal for me anyway. I would rather move than wait.

Fortune favours the brave.

Thanks to another group of kindred spirits, I changed my perspective. And, it didn't happen overnight. New trees (ideas, concepts and habits) are easy to remove. Old trees with roots deep in my past are much more difficult to dig out or avoid.

I learned how to move through a room by watching other people move through a room. I emulated some of things they did and ventured out in the thriving throng using their model. Some of it worked and some of it felt as alien to me as it would waking in some alternate reality. Then again, it was an alternate to my own reality. Eventually, I found my own rhythm and the dance became easier.

I am able to find only that with which I am familiar and, therefore, able to see.

It took me a long time to figure out this next bit and some of it came to me again over the course of the weekend. We need models. Not supermodels. I would deem neither the women nor the men they label as “models” a framework for reality. I'm not certain they're all that super either. I'm speaking of models of those things we seek. Until I see, feel, and touch something similar to that which I seek, and recognize it, I will never know the feeling of what I am looking for.

Why is feeling important? Because energy attracts similar energy and I emit and feel energy... like we all do.

It's how we feel like we're in the same relationship or the same job or the same neighbourhood even though we have moved on to something "new". We migrate toward that which is familiar (comfort zones). And what is familiar feels right even though it may not be right. That situation or person or job may not be what is good for us, yet it is what we attract because it is all we see through our filters. We get the same thing over and over because we see and feel the same things. It's difficult to do another dance when the song is always the same.

I generalized above yet I know I have fallen victim to those same pitfalls: wanting something different and not able to recognise it because I've not seen it before and, therefore, don't know what it looks or feels like. Until I experience the feeling of being in the company of those people, places or things, I won't know what I'm looking for. 

It's the feeling I seek... not a person, place or thing.

It's how I can now move through a crowd of strangers and find kindred spirits. They suddenly appear by my side (or I by theirs) without any real effort. I know what I'm feeling for. (Yes... I know what I just said. It's a double entendre. Bite me.)

It's how I ended up spending time with Barbara, Tim and the two Petes. It's why I made the effort to attend Greg and Vicki's wedding. It's why I made a side trip to visit Han on the way home. Important people. Kindred spirits.

It was tough leaving Wisconsin. The people felt right... and a lot like I was home.

At the very least, I now know what I'm looking for.

Namaste