I am Arbutus, aka, the Tree of Knowledge. Look at me, I stand as I have always stood, raw, naked and unashamed. Unlike… ah but I’m getting ahead of my story.

There was this Garden, see? Oh, it was a garden of heavenly delights, the Garden of Eden, they called it. Everyone roamed around like me then, naked as the day God made them, and proud. In the way we are meant to be proud. Nothing to hide. Inside and outside made from the same cloth. Of course we hadn’t heard that turn of phrase then. We all wore skins—our own, not somebody else’s. If you get my drift.

Well, one day I was minding my own business as usual, stretching my limbs every which way to see how close I could get to Light—call it God, Sun, whatever, we just called it Light in those days. I was losing my bark as I do every spring and there was this friendly contest, see, as to who could get the best tan. Well, as far as I could see there was no contest—I always won hands down, or make it pants down, bark down, whatever, I always turned out the most brilliant chartreuse, and that was without getting at all burned. That was the rule—Eve, the woman, made it up—if the beautiful tan turned out to be a burn, you lost automatically. She made Adam the judge. Personally, I think it was a game between those two, just another excuse for touching. As if they needed one.

So I was standing there, my limbs stretched out every which way reaching toward Light and I felt this tickly sensation on my skin, something was slithering up onto one of my lower limbs. I tried to shake it off but it wouldn’t budge, it just kept crawling and crawling, up one limb and down the other till I thought I would scream. I wondered briefly if this was someone’s trick to make me lose the best tan contest that year.

Just then I heard “Pssst!” I listened.”Pssst!” I heard again.

“What?! What do you want? Can’t you tell I’m working on my tan?”

“Where are your leaves-s-s-s? I’m burning up in this hot s-s-sun!”

“They’re where they always are, I’m open, I’m the original WYSIWYG guy, I have nothing to hide. Leaves are just for decoration anyway, don’t you know that? And who are you, by the way? If I wasn’t a naturally polite guy I’d tell you to get off me, you’ll ruin my tan.”

“Well, I had this idea, s-s-see. You’re the guy they call the Tree of Knowledge, right? And I thought p-s-s-s-s-s-s…” The rest sounded like one long hiss, but I got the gist alright. No good had ever been spoken in that language.

 
“Giroff!” I shouted. “You’ve come to the wrong man, er, tree, but you don’t know me. You think that just because my body and limbs are all twisted I’ll fall in with your devious plans to separate our resident humans from each other and from their God.” I was disgusted, I was mad. I was losing good tan time. I gave myself a vigorous shake and returned to what I’d been doing, stretching way, way out…

The snake? From what I heard, he must have slithered on off to the next tree, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. But that's a whole 'nother story. You can read it somewhere, in some bible, I heard tell. But it ain’t my story and you sure as heaven won’t find it in these pages…

©RAD 2009

Photo credits: 1st  2nd

in absolute now, in the rhythmic breath
that obtains here, belongs here, is never quite the same anywhere else;
its slowed heartbeat mimics mother's breast, cradling me, except for this:
in now, I need no comforting

in now, I need no comforting!
and of what possible use can comforting be
to what happened before, or may happen some day?

it's my attachment to story that cries for comfort
in now there is no story,
just being, feeling,
heart-dancing

An instance of becoming aware or of remembering that one is surrounded by light, has always been surrounded by light, and in fact, is (composed of) light. An act of realizing or of reminding ourselves, again and again, that in spite of experiences that we think tell us different, we are not separate from light. It's not a matter of turning on the light, it's a metaphoric opening of the eyes to what has always been there.

So we are already enlightened, always have been. There is nothing special about it, nothing distinctly human, or spiritual, nothing that differentiates the concentration of light in one being over another. Nothing that is outside of light and that therefore, could be considered unenlightened.

It may be that humans are the only beings anywhere who think there is enlightenment to be had, and that it's reserved for Earth humans. But then again, perhaps we are the only beings with imagination enough to think we live in or are beings of darkness.

What possible meaning could enlightenment have for anyone or anything who hasn't believed they live in darkness?

What comes into my living space, for one.

A moment ago it was a fly buzzing on the inside of the open window he had just flown through. No sooner was he in than he wanted out again, but every time he tried to fly back into the great blue yonder he bumped up against the window pane.

You can do it, I encouraged him. If you found your way in, you can find your way out again.

This hands-off guidance is relatively new for me. I used to trap flies and other insects that found their way into my dwelling space in a small jar or other container, then transport them back outside. Sometimes they were already so close to the open air I would just waft them, with hands or paper or whatever else presented itself, toward it. The point being, I was always trying to get rid of them. But then, I used to think flies a sort of useless pest whose only purpose was to make my life miserable. I thought they wanted to be inside.

Oddly enough, in the old way I could never seem to get rid of the creatures. Now that I leave the going up to them they're just like any other visitor, popping in and popping out again. They know the way.

It was one of their kind who, at a time when I was struggling with a certain situation in which I was feeling very stuck, did me the favour of buzzing my words back to me:

You found your way into this mess, and you know intuitively how to get back out again. Be still and know that you are god.

Reminding me to get off being the victim; to take responsibility for who and where I am, for situations I get myself into, for working through them. I know the way.

flying
freefall
fireworks
falling in love
floating on clouds
being suffused in light
dancing in universal rhythm
dancing to your own heartbeat
donning rose-coloured spectacles
walking on the beach on a windy day
walking on the beach on a windless day

...and a gazillion other things, too many to list here.

Most of all, happiness feels like being at peace with myself, in love with the world, present to what's happening right here and right now.

Sometimes it feels like a whisper on the wind, a tinkle of fairy chimes, or the barest of love-nudges: a reminder to look, to become the all-seeing eye into my body-mind-spirit connection. Perhaps I need to exercise more, be more careful about what I eat, take time to commune with nature.

Seems I'm a great one for ignoring the more gentle wake up calls, though, and lately pain has felt more like a fire alarm in the middle of the night, or like the messenger missed his landing and crashed spurred boots first into my head, back, or some other part of my anatomy.

Ow!

Oh, finally, you're awake! Sorry for the rough landing, but I've been trying to get your attention for eons.


To me, pain is a messenger come to remind me to look at what I've been avoiding or ignoring in my life, or to quieten down so I can better hear the whisperings of my heart. Too often, by the time I really get the message, what I thought would be a short visit has become an extended stay from a rather demanding guest.

So sometimes pain feels like a spoiled child's tantrum, demanding to be allowed its way in the middle of a busy supermarket.

Sometimes, although I don't much care to admit it, pain feels like a useful kind of friend to have, the sort that doesn't mind me using her for my purposes. Like when I'm looking for an excuse to not do what I insist I would rather be doing, if only...




[Note: If embedding disabled, click on YouTube link in video.]

 
I'd been feeling, not sad exactly, but quiet---remembering Maxie, experiencing Maxie---for several days after I heard of his death. Yesterday I started this thread in Diving Deeper, not realizing other threads were already going in other groups (see here). So that's not what this blog is about, though.

Maxie was a member of Diving Deeper, had been almost since its inception on zaadz (now gaia). Yesterday I dug up all his posts there. There weren't that many, but what he posted---from his own work, as well as comments on other writers---was memorable. This blog, then, is really about sharing the last poem Maxie shared with us on Diving Deeper. He titled it No Escape (posted here on January 5th, 2009).



Like some of Rumi's poetry, this is a *truth*, these are words I feel I could read/inhale every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of. I am convinced he wrote it from the heart of me. (I already know he wrote it from the heart of him, I don't think he was capable of writing from anywhere else.)

Remembering Maxie...
 

 
Okay, here's my version of My Life According to X. Thanks to Phil for giving me my first taste of this fun exercise, and to the others whose  individual versions I have since read. If you'd like to try the game, here are the *rules*:
Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions.
Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think!
Repost as "My Life According to [ Artist Name] "




My Life According to Bruce Cockburn

1. Are you a male or female?  Mistress of Storms

2. How do you feel?  Wondering Where the Lions Are

3. Describe where you currently live:  Dancing in Paradise

4. If you could go anywhere, where would you go?  Anything, Anytime, Anywhere

5. Your favorite form of transportation:  One Day I Walk

6. Your best friend is:  She Wants to Know

7. What's the weather like?  Bright Sky

8. Favorite time of day:  Dawn Music

9. If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?  Deer Dancing Round a Broken Mirror

10. What is life to you?  My Beat

11. Your fear:  If I Had a Rocket Launcher

12. What is the best advice you have to give?  Joy Will Find a Way

13. Thought for the day:  Love Loves You Too

14. How I would like to die:  Let Us Go Laughing

15. My soul's present condition:  Tried and Tested

16. My motto:  Anything Can Happen