BUY THIS NFT : click here
"Trees have always been the most incisive preachers for me." When they dwell in tribes and families, in woodlands and groves, I hold them in high regard. I respect them much more when they're on their own. They resemble people who feel lonely. Like brilliant, isolated men like Beethoven and Nietzsche, not like hermits who have hidden away because of some weakness. The universe rustles in their tallest boughs, and their roots reach into infinity, but they do not lose themselves there; instead, they fight with all their might for one goal: to fulfil themselves according to their own rules, to construct their own shape, to reflect themselves. Nothing is more holy, nothing is more inspirational than a beautiful, powerful trellis. A beautiful, powerful tree is more holy, more exemplary than anything else.
When a tree is cut down and its naked death-wound is exposed to the sun, one can read its entire history in the luminous, inscribed disc of its trunk: all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness, and prosperity are truly written in the rings of its years, its scars, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the tightest rings, that the most resilient, the strongest, the perfect trees live high on the mountains and in constant danger.
Trees are safe havens. Anyone who understands how to communicate with them and listen to them can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and commandments; instead, they preach the old law of life, unaffected by details.
A tree says: A kernel, a spark, a concept, I am life from eternal life, is buried in me. The everlasting mother's endeavour and risk with me is unique, as are the shape and veins of my skin, the tiniest play of leaves in my branches, and the tiniest scar on my bark. In my tiniest specific detail, I was created to shape and expose the eternal.
My strength is faith, says a tree. I know nothing about my dads, nothing about the tens of thousands of offspring who arise from me every year. I live my seed's secret until the end, and I don't care about anything else. I have faith that God is with me. I have faith in the sanctity of my work. I live because of this faith. When we are struck by tragedy and can no longer handle our life, a tree offers a message for us: "Be quiet!" Keep your cool! Take a look at me! Life is neither easy nor tough. Those are the ideas of a youngster. Allow God to speak to you, and your ideas will go away. You're worried because your route will take you away from your mother and home. Every step and every day, though, will take you back to the mother.There is no such thing as home. Home can be found inside you, or it can be found anywhere.
When I hear trees rustling in the wind in the evening, I get a strong desire to wander. This need exposes its substance, its meaning, if one listens to them silently for a long time. Though it may appear to be such, it is not so much a question of avoiding one's misery. It's a yearning for home, for a remembrance of the mother, and for fresh life metaphors. It leads back to the house. Every stride represents birth, every step represents death, and every burial represents mother.
So, in the evening, when we are anxious in front of our own immature ideas, the tree rustles: Trees have lengthy thoughts, long-breathing and tranquil, just as they have longer lives than we do. As long as we don't listen to them, they are smarter than we are. When we learn to listen to trees, however, the shortness, speed, and infantile hastiness of our thoughts attain an unequalled delight. Whoever has mastered the art of listening to trees no longer want to be one. He aspires to be nothing but himself. That's where I call home. That is what happiness is."
0 Comments