The Peace of the Thinking Tree

As we enter into the second week of Advent, lighting the Candle of Peace, I’d like to take a moment and explore the idea of “peace.” It’s based off a night version of a piece of art called, “Rest.” (You can probably see where this is going). I hope you enjoy.

The road to top of the hill was well worn. It had been a trek made often throughout the year. The Thinking Tree had been company time and time again, and now was a friend once more. As the man lowered himself to the hard packed earth, he sighed as the release of breath sprang from his lips.

“Ah,” he said. “There it is.”

The exhale was what he had come to associate with the Thinking Tree. A release of tension, in a way. Though, he acknowledged, there was many a time of struggle and heartache here.

Still, though, the Thinking Tree was his place of refuge and solace.

Solace. An interesting word. Where had he learned it, he wondered? And when had he associated that odd word with his Thinking Tree?

He released another sigh, easing into the trunk of the tree and tilting his head back. Through the shuffle of the leaves and sway of the branches, he could see the endless starry sky. More stars than hairs on his head twinkled back to his tired eyes and aching shoulders. He felt as though he carried the weight of the world there, some days.

A scent filled his nose, the smell of a night still untouched by the long hours without the sun. Here, before the creatures of the night began their foraging, but after the creatures of the day had returned to their homes, there was a sense of stillness.

Some might find the space empty and devoid of expression. The man found it full. Full of the memories of a day lived. Full of the potential the night had to offer. Full of the countless, twinkling watchers in the night sky, ready to see it all unfold.

Yes, the night air was full, but yet still. A sense of expectation, perhaps?

Again, a breath of release fell from his lungs as he folded deeper into the cleft of the tree and roots. Unbidden, a memory sprang to his mind, with a grin following. One of the first days he had come here, to the Thinking Tree. A bright afternoon, as active as this moment was still.

He was excited, and in a chipper manner, told the tree all of his plans. The tree, in the usual solid way, listened intently, swaying with a shared anticipation. As he went to move away, exhilarated, he caught himself. He faced away from the tree, supporting his shoulder blades against the rough bark. “Look at it,” he said, hands in his pockets and a quiet smile on his face. “The beautiful horizon.”

A good day, the man knew. So many opportunities to discover, so many ways to go. He was proud that he could look back and not regret the choices he made on the way.

He shifted, turning to look at those same horizons. For a moment, he wondered about some of those decisions, but disregarded them. The Thinking Tree didn’t need to be bothered by ‘What If’s.’

With that thought, a second memory drove into his mind, painful and searing, just as the day had been. It, too, was filled, but not with stirring potential or exuberant energy. No, it was filled, fittingly, with rain. A downpour around the man’s wide-brimmed hat, which only served to drip water directly onto his shoulders.

He said nothing, merely stood in front of the Thinking Tree, his eyes focused on the bark to disconnect from the thoughts swirling in his brain. In reality, he saw nothing but those thoughts, which spiraled into his vision from all sides. He fought back, but there was no helping it.

“I wish…” he said, defeated. “I wish I had been there. I wish he was still here.” He stared up into the empty branches of the tree, letting the rain fall onto his face. “I wish that I could stop wishing.”

With that final confession, the tears began to trickle down his cheeks. The man hung his head, and silently, sobbed.

As he moved to walk away, he reached out and touched the bark of the tree with a hand that was just as wet as it. He stood there for a long moment, thinking on the grief, then let go and began to walk back down the hill.

A hard day, the man realized. A long day. Had it been necessary? The man wasn’t sure.

A leaf disconnected from the branch above, floating idly down past his face. He watched it land on the ground. It was healthy – it had no reason to fall. But still it fell.

He traced the green veins, noticing how they blended together to form the stem. From the stem, he found himself touching the hard-packed dirt. He pressed his palm in it, remembering an afternoon. A memory more recent than the other two, but still too long ago to call recent.

He sat in the same place as he did now, but the tree was starting to turn golden. He crossed his legs, breathing in the blue sky and green grass. The sun had passed it’s height, and now began the descent toward the night.

“You’ve been good to me, Thinking Tree.” It’s a statement of fact. Fortunately, no one is around to hear the sentence and lock him up in the madhouse. “And now I’m starting to wonder if you’re going to outlast me.”

The man reached down and rubbed the earth absentmindedly. “I guess I shouldn’t have wondered. You’re a tree, after all. But thank you for being here for me.” He took a deep breath, pulling the cap down over his eyes. He had no rush to leave the stillness provided by the overhanging branches. Instead, he shifted his shoulders to be more comfortable, and let his eyes close and his body rest.

Under the starry sky, the old man laughed a short laugh. “If I pull out an ax now, I might still outlast you,” he said, patting the bark behind him. He lifted his head, looking behind him at how thick the trunk had grown. “Though, I guess, it might take me out to try.”

He considered his Thinking Tree once again. Solace wasn’t the right word. No… It was close, though.

He tipped his head back, letting out another long breath and soaking in the night sounds and the winking eyes of the stars. What was the word? What was the feeling?

Then he realized why he could never place a finger on it. There was not a single emotion that he felt when he was here at the Thinking Tree. Instead, it was a subtle undercurrent behind them all. A feeling of solidity, along with the instability of the emotion. A beautiful reminder of being able to feel and participate in whatever he was facing, without feeling like he needed to keep his guard up.

There, by the Thinking Tree, the man had found true and utter peace.

Perhaps peace has never been something we need on it’s own. Perhaps we need it within every single emotion and feeling we experience. So, as we light the Candle of Peace, I pray that you will find the peace in the excitement of the season. Not a dismissal of the giddiness, but an embracing it with the knowledge of the reason for your joy. I pray you find peace in the sorrow, not to hide away from the tears, but to know that you are loved and upheld through them. Likewise, I pray you find peace and rest – moments to let go of the hustle and bustle, exhaling without fear of being interrupted. And finally, I pray you find peace as you watch the seasons come and go. Know you are loved. Know you are seen. And know that Prince of Peace longs to guard your heart.