If a tree were to talk about being happy,
I imagine They would speak from their leaves.
And in their joy
I wonder how ‘We' might feel
of their songful moving
in their blooming cocooning
and soulful wind-grooving
and entirely tuning away
from all musings
or fearings
of death,
or even
dying.
“Things always feel better when we speak
from Our Highest,”
God reminded,
Amidst the pondering,
a burst
:
“How does one measure
the level of joy
that is fair to feel
given the lack of joy
that is felt by others?”
The begging weighed and we’re not sure who asked it and we’re not sure who the others really are.
Tree moved
back (in)to Light.
“I am here, and here I am,” said Tree.
“I have surrendered to myself long ago.
These are my parts and this is my place,
and if I were to leave, -
- - I would be gone.”
The nods were silent as the condition fell.
Tree continued, urgent while still:
“When we think we’re really big,
It’s time to remember we’re really small.
When we think we’re really small,
It’s time to remember we’re really big.
I could not know Happy Leaves
if I did not know
sad ones and dead ones and new ones, too.
Happy Leaves do not close my senses from
remembering the feeling knowing
of my Roots.
My Roots are the Ones who told my Leaves:
The language of suffering is the language of joy.”
The tree stared at the sky.
Their Body cried as their Leaves still danced.
God smiled at His reflection within Tree
and together, in remembrance and reminder,
they whispered to Our hearts:
“Thank you for being as happy as you can be.”
And so,
We did our best to try.
[note: this poem was originally sent in an email, 12.10.21]
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