This was first written twenty years ago after my dad passed on
This March 29th is the anniversary
Peace unto you and yours, wherever you or they may be
Honoring Trees and Loved Ones
To become comfort unto ourselves
There is nothing else but us
We are all here
Those in or out of body
All are here right now
Those on the opposite sides of the world are here
Those in the air and of the air
Flying in a plane or the winged ones
The four footed or the eight footed or the one-hundred footed are all here
There is nothing not here
I know this through something I call my own, me
But it’s not exclusively me, not beyond me either
It encapsulates me, includes me and extends out to all
This gives me comfort now
I met some boys recently doing readings
They said they were channeling the angel Raphael
Laughingly they spoke about the fourth dimension
Playing as teenagers do
Trying to reach out for something other than Them Selves
It did make me wonder
What’s the big deal about the fourth dimension? Or any dimension?
They all exist now
What is happening is happening no matter what dimension we are on
It doesn’t make one bit of difference to my freedom
Maybe just my perspective
Which is only a temporary view at any point along the way
I crave time alone in the country
To write and do nothing but listen to the breeze
Hear the chirpers and know my Self as God
To watch things unfold and fold, appear and disappear
To know that even the disappeared will reappear
And the appeared will disappear
To watch the changing leaves, the sunlight on the trees
To listen to the rhythm of my body and breath
My heart, and the rise and fall of my belly and chest
That is all I want to do
I want to set worry aside, along with the thought of making a living
Or doing my thing in this world
I just want to live
And for me right now that means watching, being, doing not much at all
I know I must go west
Many things await me out there
I will be closer to my soul’s roots
And I will live as the tree in the yard dancing with sunlight on her leaves
Giving shade and surrendering to the day
Melting her coat through the winter snow
Putting on her cloak again for the spring show
Playing with the rhythm of life that comes and rests on her
I love trees
My father knew I loved trees
He saw me once dancing about the yard, kissing and hugging every tree
Singing to them, just before they sold the house
I didn’t know he saw me dancing
I wasn’t going to miss the house so much
Although each room had its memories
More it was the the trees I played on as a child
The great Weeping Willow in the back corner of the house
The Christmas Evergreen my grandmother planted that grew to be so tall
The Chestnut Tree, surrounded by the low red brick wall
That the squirrels came to eat at every fall
The Birch mom planted before she found out my brother was allergic
The great old tree in front of the garage that we thought might blow down, but never did
The two bushes that stood like small pillars
On either side of the entrance to the front walk
Where we’d hide behind when we played ringalivio
And the little tree—I don’t know its name
The one planted in the middle of the front yard on the hill
The hill we rolled down, making ourselves dizzy
That tree planted over thirty years ago, I watched grow into the tree that hugs the sky and still stands there now
Then there was the one at the side of the house
The hurricane blew down
Each tree has its story, its gift
Each tree I sat under and knew
And they knew me
What I did beneath the tree
Who I played with
What I thought
How I felt
I think my father was in some ways like those trees
He was silent much of the time
Not a man who put his deep feelings into words
And yet he knew much more than any word could say
And he knew me
Even now, he is like those trees
Silent in a different way and yet ever vital and alive
It is said that the missing limbs from those who’ve been in accidents or gone to war
Are still there, ghostly limbs, vibrating
Nothing ever passes out of existence
I do not even think the great dinosaurs are gone forever from this earth
But that they live somewhere in some dimension of time
Perhaps the fourth
But that that dimension is here
Alive and now
I suppose one may say they live on in the fantasies of children
Yet I do not mean that kind of existence
I mean they really do have a substance
And I know some would think that strange
But this is how I feel
This is what I know
Nothing ever passes from existence
Everything is here, now
And so, too, is my father
Any person we have loved
Any animal
Plant or tree is still here
With us now
And I hear the limbs of those same trees
Whisper This is true
Words and Images by Elizabeth Welles
Copyright 2016