Many years ago when my firstborn was barely walking, I carried the beginnings of an inner turbulence. There was a heaviness in me that would not sink.One morning, very much aware of the growing heaviness in me, I found myself flying low over Metro Manila. Right below me was a wide expanse of fiery red-orange blossoms of this--the African Tulip Tree. I was admiring the strength and boldness of this tree and the magnificence of the view--row upon row of bright orange blooms jutting out of the vast green. It was doing something inside me that was confusing at the time. But there was crazy motion around my heart and solar plexus. At that moment I very distinctly heard the phrase, "Find your voice." The message was audible. It was in me and yet unspoken by me and it was clear as day.
Years later, in what feels like a new life carved out of the old, I find myself steward of such a tree. It is the one major tree my lot came with and I only realized what it was when it started to bloom for me. The tree sits squarely in the center of my view from the bedroom--something I could not have planned, but there it is.
Almost a week ago, my children were somewhere in it and my youngest fell from one of its branches. That moment was one of those heart-in-your-throat motherhood moments. Everything was in slow motion. But save for the shock, my little boy was fine. It is now his tree, too. It was after that incident that I began piecing together the significance of this tree in my life.
For the first time in my biography, I feel that I am finding my voice. It is not complete and not always heard, but I feel that it is already gaining resonance. I look back on that moment I heard the message and know that it was grace. From there the journey was painful, nearly unbearable, but today looking at this tree across my bedroom, I see how very necessary everything was and how important it is to take heed and listen to the very depths of our being and be open to the images around us always. If we are awake to it, we will find that the world constantly speaks to us.
The African Tulip Tree is my daily reminder that I am constantly held in grace if I would only be still and accept it.
2 comments:
Liked your post.
Uncany how you eventually had the same kind of tree in your garden.
There's a certain companionship felt with trees, long-lasting plants, as with pets, no?
Maybe because, like pets, the longer lasting plants are silent witnesses to family life, and companions during those important solitary moments.
When my wife Pinky and I got married, we had this small potted podocarpus (it's like a Chinese pine tree, but the leaves are not as needle-like)in front of the small apartment in Mandaluyong . When we moved to Santa Rosa, we brought it along, just like a pet. The plant stayed with us, and watched as our family steadily grew. The plant has since died - fortunately, when I briefly dabbled in painting, I used it as one of my subjects. So now, the plant continues to be with our family, not anymore in a pot but, more permanently, in a glassed frame, a witness and companion to our family's highs and lows, and those essential silent moments in between.
Hi. I came here from the PAGASA website (searched for it after a cousin posted the Lupang Hinirang video on her blog).
After reading this post, I like to share with you a link to one of my favorite stories ... The Family Tree. http://www.flickr.com/photos/wgbhmorningstories/298047257/
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