This was my view from behind the wheel yesterday. Flanked by towering trees on both sides of the road. Winding and curving through the California Redwoods on a 31-mile drive known as the “Avenue of Giants.”
The picture, as is usually the case, doesn’t do the experience justice. Not even close.
It was a spectacularly comforting drive. I felt embraced by the trees, cocooned by their natural love and strength. Several times, when intuition moved me, I stopped the car to get out and walk among them.
These trees hold so much history. Thousands and thousands of years of history. This is a mere spec in relation to the entire life of this universe, of course — which really puts my even-more minuscule experience and knowledge of this world in perspective.
These trees are gurus on a planet that is ever-evolving. If only they could talk. Oh, the stories they could tell and lessons they would share.
As I meandered the lush Redwood groves, while a rain shower lightly sprinkled down from the canopy high, high above, I tried to listen to the trees. Really listen. I thought maybe they could transmit some incredible story or lesson, as hokey as that sounds. I really did. In between squeals from excited children playing atop some of the fallen trees, I absorbed the silence.
There was no cosmic transmission, per se. I heard nothing. But perhaps that was their invitation to me. To be silent.
Mountains, trees, lakes — they have an innate ability to still me. I stop mad-dashing like a five-year-old child hyped up on sugary sweets in the form of wants, desires and needs.
All I have to do is stop, and listen. To the universe around me, and to the universe swirling within.
The hard part is simply stopping.