The Nature of Suffering

July 04, 2008

Split in Two ~ Canon 30d

A few of weeks ago I set out for a meditative afternoon walk through Battery Kemble Park, just a few miles from my home. Like a compassionate umbrella, the tall canopy of mighty oak, tulip and birch trees created a surprisingly hospitable environment even though the temperature was pushing close to 90 degrees in direct sunlight. Making my way through the forest vestibule of greenness felt like walking into a cool, deciduous cathedral lush with wild transience blooming and dying all around me. Turbulent thunderstorms had rolled through the neighborhood a day or two before, rendering a moist yet mud-free carpet of earth beneath my rubber-soled toes. Each step was met by a forgiving soil, a perfect blend of clay and rain supporting my journey.

(continued below)

Meditation Cushion ~ Canon 30d

As I approached my favorite resting spot; an enormous rock jutting out from the creek bed; I was met with a sense that something had changed in the now-familiar home of bugs, chipmunks, ravens and woodpeckers. Some sort of spatial rearrangement had taken place, and the quality of light was somehow different. It was 6pm, Where was the abundance of light coming from? I wondered. Standing at the edge of the over-sized boulder (which I fondly think of as my meditation cushion), the remnants of a violent, gut-wrenching performance made itself known to me. For a split second, I was breathless – dumbstruck with wonder – at the scope of the chain reaction that had played out just a day or two before: a heroic oak, whose broken roots lay exposed and alone on the creek's vulnerable shore, had been struck down – by an act of God, apparantly – and in its final dramatic moments a karmic domino effect erupted which would take the lives of not one, but five trees in total. The humbled tree decimated a sapling birch and tulip tree before squarely hitting an oak of comparable size on the opposite side of the creekbed. The point of impact for the falling oak must have occurred where its long body divided into two branchy appendages – the force splitting the trunk into two perfect vertical halves while ripping off a massive patch of bark on the still standing tree, which seemed to heave heavy sighs while shivering in the late afternoon sunlight.

I absorbed the scene with all my senses. There was so much carnage – so many metaphors for this vulnerable, fragile, sensitive life we're all immersed in together and suffer over. I thought of how chaos can strike without warning; my sacred spot – a place whose biggest drama was a hovering bug's view over the trickling creek water – was now scarred, chaotic, a scene of discord and disharmony. The smell of freshly ripped wood; the clean, bare look of it; was too much to resist, and I did my best Tom Girl Leap off the side of the rock – admittedly, a less than stellar dismount – but no one was looking, except for the trees, that is... who watch and listen, and cry and mourn for the redundant story of Death by Storm, followed by the all too familiar sacrificial transformation from tree to humble nurse log.

With one foot in the water and the other crunching across a carpet of worn pebbles, I crawled beneath the right half of the dying oak, balancing myself by hugging it's half circumference at one point. A palpable energy met my embrace which made my heart sing a song of wonder and ache for all my powerlessness in the aftermath of such turmoil, but soon my head appeared between the division, and like an archeologist or crime scene investigator, I gently ran my fingers across the fibrous guts on both sides of me. The clear and present danger of a nasty splinter put a temporary stop to my investigation, so I switched gears and began pulling at tags of tree fibers, which easily curled and bent with moderate effort. I tucked three strips into my back pocket, knowing they would be a poignant reminder of the nature of suffering and this transient life once they found a new home on my meditation altar.

The upper branches, sparkling in all their greenery, covered the sloping side of the forest like big leafy bushes. How long would it take for each leaf to curl and dehydrate? How long before no one would think twice to ponder the nature of suffering while walking past the jutting rock's scenic overlook?

The inside investigation now over, I pulled myself to a standing place on one of the half-trunks to explore the external metaphors. The tree-turned-bridge was more than sturdy enough to bear my weight with confidence, prompting the former teenager within to playfully scurry up, up, up to the point of impact where I inspected the peripheral damage: two more downed trees and a sea of writhing, twisting branches everywhere. One tree, one life, can wreak so much damage on so many others. I felt as though all the eyes of the forest had descended upon me as I concentrated my heart on the lesson nature had drawn in front of me.

The woods may not speak, but the life teeming within it is continuously manifesting energy. The trees may not see or hear in a way which makes sense to our human understanding, but nature is always, always speaking to us, and understanding the language requires an inner pause, and a willingness to open. Nature has an uncanny way of reflecting things which we know on a level so deep the conscious mind itself may not be aware of them yet. If we are open and relaxed, these soul-reflections can touch the heart, uncovering buried inner knowings, and because these realizations come to us in the form of images, they are easily remembered symbols which will animate in the heart long after the linear mind would have discarded the memory as trivial and rendered it forgotten.

As the forest spoke, I ceased my resistance to the chaos surrounding me. Letting go of my heightened sense of curiosity and excitement, I opened my heart to the suffering and the deciduous nature of all things. An unexpected whisper carried by a barely discernible breeze rustled through the dying leaves, "This is life. This is you. Have compassion for me. This breaking apart, this falling down, this suffering and splitting in two is the same suffering experienced by all beings. It's in the letting go, the acceptance of what is, and giving your life for others, that will allow appreciation and joy to manifest inside you."

Heavy Sighs ~ Canon 30d

Vulnerable, Fragile, Sensitive ~ Canon 30d

Inspecting the Split ~ Canon 30d

Impact ~ Canon 30d

Decapitated ~ Canon 30d

In time, I will find the words and images to reflect on the wonderful, insightful retreat I attended a couple weeks ago, but instead, these images were asking to be posted this evening. They've been waiting in line longer than the other images have, and when a natural wonder occurs in close proximity to your doorstep, there can be a gentle yet persistent internal push to get it posted.

Posted by vincent at July 4, 2008 09:27 PM

Comments

So powerfully felt and written Susan, and so very true. Life as we know it can be turned on it's axis in just a few short minutes, and we are left with the devastation and must find a way to pick up the pieces left, learn from it, and embrace a new landscape. Thank you for sharing this today and many warm hugs to you for "seeing" so much.

Posted by: jayne at July 5, 2008 07:33 AM

Wonderful post. Sometimes our hearts split open like this tree when a loved one passes away, but being of the earth it disintegrates back into the clay, creating an even more fertile soil, new vegetaion springs up and beauty rises again. Thank you for your beautiful pictures and words.

Posted by: Kathy at July 5, 2008 10:52 AM

Awe inspirering in both words and photos.

Posted by: janet at July 5, 2008 03:19 PM

Wow, what a wonderful reflection...there is a story about flowers and plants and what someone can hear that flowers and plants voices when they are picked to be enjoyed instead of allowed to carry on - I think it's by Ronald Dahl but can't remember the title...anyway, I love how reflective you were and the words of how a tree passing is sad...

Posted by: Shawn at July 8, 2008 03:01 PM

Powerful! My parents lost a huge oak at their home, and it was indeed an awesome and heart breaking site to see. Thanks for sharing!
Blessings,
BILL

Posted by: Bill Burns at July 9, 2008 12:07 PM

Beautiful photos and wonderful tale. Great post.

Posted by: beth at July 12, 2008 06:20 PM

I am floored by your beautiful writing. In the Desert of the Real, I sit beside my gazing pool and send myself alongside as you explore the broken, and I am amazed.

Posted by: MMM at July 19, 2008 10:02 AM