This article was previously published in One Earth magazine, Volume 2 Issue 1, in Sept/Oct 1981.

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The Wisdom of Trees: A Personal Journey

Looking back on my childhood and teenage years, I see that my upbringing was blessed by two primary elements: a stable, loving family atmosphere and, despite my suburban existence, frequent exposure to nature. Within that exposure to nature, various experiences stand out in a pattern of relief, indicating their influence on my life, character, and outlook.

One such experience occurred when I was working as a gardener and landscape contractor. It was late afternoon on a summer day and I was looking forward to completing my job. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the client, one of our new customers, standing on the patio and staring with a fixed gaze at a mound at the bottom of his garden on which were a group of fairly mature trees. As I finished and prepared to leave, I drew closer to him, and he cleared his throat to speak. Instead of the standard complaint about the heat or the high humidity, or the usual offer of a cold beer, this man said, “You know, son, how can one look at the beauty of those trees and not realise that there is a Creator of the universe?” His comment so took me by surprise that I could only reply, “Yes, sir,” as I packed tools and prepared to drive away.

At that time I was sixteen years old, not yet fully aware of my search for spiritual understanding, nor fully conscious of the inner rhythm of life which has since become the central core of my activities. But that realisation was close enough to the surface of my life that I was profoundly influenced by this man’s comment. I began to see trees, and by extension life, in a different light.

My relationship with nature, and therefore my everyday work, began to change. As the company assumed more tree maintenance work, I began to realise more fully what trees are as entities in themselves, and what they offer to us. I became known as a bit of a “monkey” because of my ability to perform various aerial arboricultural tasks without the usual support of ropes. Looking back from my ripe old age of 32, I now doubt the wisdom of some of those activities, but my reasons then for doing them were very clear: I knew the tree was holding me as much as I was clinging onto it. It wasn’t a fully conscious attitude, but rather an innate response that clarified itself as it was happening. There was a world of difference between climbing a tree and scampering along the scaffolding of a partially completed high-rise building. I seldom did the latter because it gave me little sense of security.

So, like many people, I have always been somewhat of a tree lover. Trees have helped guide me deeper into my being, providing a supportive, responsive framework as I have clambered through my life. The feelings I have around trees or when working with them are unmistakable and unlike those that come when working with any other form of life. As we all explore the Tree of Life and become more aware of the spiritual dimension of what we are doing, we are often exposed to concepts which attempt to describe the subjective realities that we experience. These terms can be strange to us, often creating a sense of separation from the experience rather than a sense of union. For example, the terms “devas” (angels) and “nature spirits” that the Findhorn Foundation uses to describe the life within nature could, if we allowed them to, cause confusion rather than increase clarity.

Many of the people I meet and work with around the world feel a need to contact and work with the inner realities of nature, but are caught in the dilemma of having their own feelings and experience on the one hand, and other people’s definitions and concepts on the other. When this first began to occur to me, I experienced an initial period of confusion and separation, but then returned to my own personal experiences to attempt to clarify my perceptions. And again, the trees offered a limb on which to stand.

Remembering those days of tree climbing when I absorbed and became semi-conscious of the strength, peace, protection, and stability which the trees offered, I began to understand that spiritual perception is primarily a qualitative experience. There is certainly nothing incorrect about the desire to name and objectify these matters, and doing this is a natural part of the learning and growing process. However, hurrying this process of externalisation often obscures the reality. A more reliable way of identifying and communicating the true essence is to allow it to unfold naturally as you simply clarify your experience. The risk of over-conceptualisation is great, and you often end up communicating a shell-like concept rather than the life within. I find it much more constructive to ask Spirit to reveal itself rather than asking that it tailor itself to my definitions.

My understanding of Spirit and ability to define and communicate it has grown in relationship to my perception of trees. As I realise the incredible role which trees play within the planetary story, I recognise more fully the potential of humanity, and my own responsibilities within our collective destiny. As masters of wisdom and servants of all life, trees have no equal. They are a unique gateway into understanding and communication with the worlds around and within us. They are keystones in the archway through which all life evolves—not only providing water, oxygen, and favourable climates, but also transforming, balancing, and therefore somehow stabilising life relationships on all levels. Trees make it possible for all life to exist on Earth.