Hidden in the branches
Sitting at the lake a few weeks ago, staring absent-mindedly at a tree, something occured to me. To confirm for myself the validity of my observation, I surveyed the other trees surrounding me. It seemed I had stumbled inadvertantly upon a gem of understanding in those trees.
Each tree has it's own history, displayed for all to see in the twists and curves of it's barren winter branches. If the tree is too close to another or too near a building, its very shape is distorted in the other direction. Clear to the eye in wintertime are the places where branches have been cut off or torn from the trunk. Following any branch to its terminus is a story unto itself: each branch stretches out in the path of least resistance toward the greatest amount of sunlight.
Trees adapt. Their branches twist and wind their way to the light. When trimmed back, new branches stubbornly sprout from the same spot to pursue the light the old ones were denied. Determined trees, hidden beneath others that tower over them, will even resort to crawling upon the group to find an open space before turning up toward the light again. Trees partially stricken by a storm will appear tall and magnificent from one side and stunted and broken from the other.
I began to think of the emotional life of humans through this analogy. Our emotional lives often take the path of least resistance toward the greatest satisfaction. If we find outselves beneath towering elders, we will crawl to find our own space. When gently pruned at a young age with direction and nurture, we will grown tall and maginificent. When left untended, we grow wild and tangled. When clipped by lightening strike or torn apart by calamity, we begin our growth anew from that very spot of cataclysm, damaged but determined to start anew.
The roadmap of our emotional life, hidden deep within and sheltered from view, must look something like an old tree. What if we were transparent? What would our branches look like? What kind of story would they tell about us?
Each tree has it's own history, displayed for all to see in the twists and curves of it's barren winter branches. If the tree is too close to another or too near a building, its very shape is distorted in the other direction. Clear to the eye in wintertime are the places where branches have been cut off or torn from the trunk. Following any branch to its terminus is a story unto itself: each branch stretches out in the path of least resistance toward the greatest amount of sunlight.
Trees adapt. Their branches twist and wind their way to the light. When trimmed back, new branches stubbornly sprout from the same spot to pursue the light the old ones were denied. Determined trees, hidden beneath others that tower over them, will even resort to crawling upon the group to find an open space before turning up toward the light again. Trees partially stricken by a storm will appear tall and magnificent from one side and stunted and broken from the other.
I began to think of the emotional life of humans through this analogy. Our emotional lives often take the path of least resistance toward the greatest satisfaction. If we find outselves beneath towering elders, we will crawl to find our own space. When gently pruned at a young age with direction and nurture, we will grown tall and maginificent. When left untended, we grow wild and tangled. When clipped by lightening strike or torn apart by calamity, we begin our growth anew from that very spot of cataclysm, damaged but determined to start anew.
The roadmap of our emotional life, hidden deep within and sheltered from view, must look something like an old tree. What if we were transparent? What would our branches look like? What kind of story would they tell about us?
posted by Danny Henley at 1/17/2005 08:08:00 PM
1 Comments:
Nice analogy.
And you know, I spent much of the weekend hacking down a tree that grew up into the power lines in the back yard. No amount of calls to the city or power company could prompt anyone to trim it.
Not sure what type it was, but no branch was straight, and there were limbs going off in a million directions. I'd say that, emotionally, this tree was Anna Nicole Smith.
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