Contemplation: Trees, Father, Memories
I
From a young age
my father taught me
what it means to love trees,
to hug them,
to embrace them as companions,
to admire their beauty and wisdom.
He taught me that trees keep us alive,
They give us oxygen
and we in turn carbon dioxide.
That is how I first learned about symbiosis,
the intelligence of nature alive and ever-present.
My dad,
a tall man,
seemed rather small when hugging these enormous trees,
giants sprouting up from the earth.
II
I once asked my dad about a memory that touched him profoundly. Papi to
ld me the story of the young mango tree he planted in our backyard. One day as he went to water it, he couldn’t believe how fast it had grown, like a child that all of a sudden became a premature adult. This led to a profound reflection on how life can go by so fast, time a strange occurrence to the perception of memory. I couldn’t help smiling when he told me about this memory because I had sensed that he would pick one that was connected to a tree. At the same time, I also wondered if he related the story of the mango tree to his own life, having to grow up fast because of hard circumstances.
Somehow, I believe my father is very connected to his past life forms as a tree. In his spirit and in his presence, I sense a sacred connection to the earth. I have never heard anyone else talk as passionately about fruits and trees as he does. Some of my favorite memories are of being with him at the farm: We’re outdoors, surrounded by the high mountains and dense vegetation. Magic is all around us. We don’t need any material possessions to go on an adventure.
III
Two years ago, I performed in a dance piece by my friend Sophie called Ancestor Tree II. It was a homage to a beautiful tree in this urban lab in Berlin. That performance brought back a memory from my early school years, when I was about six years old. I had organized a club in our recess breaks called “El árbol de la vida (the tree of life)” to honor this tree in our playground. I loved it so much, the greenness of its leaves, how fresh they smelled, like mint. The tree gave us shade from the blazing sun. Honoring it felt like the most natural thing to do, and I got some of my classmates on board to sit around in a circle with me. We even had pins that we wore as part of the club, which my mom had made for us. One of my school friends told me a few years ago that she found the pin among her old stuff, and it had brought back those recess memories.
Years have passed and I find myself coming back to that childlike wonder of honoring the earth and bringing people together in sacred rituals. I want more circles to honor trees. Now, even as I rush through Berlin, I try to take a moment in between to observe the beautiful trees, plants, flowers and fungi that surround our urban landscape: I greet them as old companions in silent reverence.
IV
When I feel stressed and overwhelmed,
I go to a forest on the outskirts of Berlin
to smell the fresh air
to let my eyes bathe in all the green and brown tones,
leaves and branches swaying with the wind.
I meditate and contemplate the trees,
how they have endured the challenges of time,
the change of the seasons,
the storms and the drought.
Their roots go deep,
underground a mycelium network
keeps the forest connected.
I walk barefoot and feel my feet on the ground.
I stand tall and sense how I grow from the earth,
I am connected to its energy.
I notice how the forest changes with the seasons,
bark falling down,
food for the the soil,
how leaves change colors in the autumn,
a promise of renewal in the spring.
Thank you trees for allowing me to breathe,
for reminding that resilience means roots that go deep,
that when I am out of balance,
I ground in you and return to my center,
that I can withstand the forces of time
and spread my seeds far and beyond.
