The Contemplation Tree

The beauty of connecting to a tree

Dear reader,

Apologies to those who also received this a couple of weeks ago, not longer after the article about St Francis. This was meant to publish today, but I got something wrong in the scheduling so it went out a week early and then I scrambled to unpublish it… but I wasn’t able to stop it from hitting your inboxes. I am sorry if that felt a bit spammy. I’ve edited it a little and added in a couple of small nuggets to make it worth reading again.

You’re reading this on a day that I’m heading to Kopua Monastery for a week. There may be some reflections to come in due course.

The above photo, taken standing on a stool on the deck of our house, doesn’t even come close to capturing the majesty of the tree I was wanting to show you. It’s not possible to convey its reality in a photo. Seen from our living room, kitchen, and bedroom, it is large and captivating. It has been a mainstay of my world since we moved to Hamilton in 2016.

Hamilton is known for its gullies, full of natural beauty. The neighbours behind us and next to us back onto one of those gullies. The neighbour beside us has done a lot of work over the years to plant native trees and bushes in his section of the gully,. He has also put in walkways and areas to rest and relax. His work is stunning. When we visit and sit on their deck, it’s like being in the bush/forest.

This tree sits on the edge of the gully in the neighbour’s property behind us. It’s there as I look out of the kitchen window when I’m doing the dishes. It’s there when I’m sitting in our living room and gazing out the window. It’s there when we open our bedroom blind in the morning and look out. It’s there on sunny days like today, and it’s there when storms are raging. It has stood the test of time.

Through the seasons it changes. Right now it is in the full green of spring. This will carry through summer and then it will shed its leaves during autumn and be stark for winter. It does this year in and year out with no change in its rhythm. I see it.

People around the tree come and go. Cars zip along the road up at the top of our driveway, and the stresses of the world press in, but the tree keeps doing what the tree does.

The other day, as I noticed it laden with its green leaves, I considered how much energy it would take to produce that canopy each year - energy from the sun and the soil as it moves through its seasonal cycle. The earth keeps providing for it and in turn it provides for birds, insects, and the soil when its leaves drop. Its purpose and being are shaped by, and in turn give shape to its context. We are similar, as are all things.

That tree calls me to calm, to silence, to steadiness. It has no regard for the stresses of my life… it just keeps being. My world can feel like it’s crumbling, but the tree keeps being the tree. It’s a visual anchor.

It doesn’t surprise me that simply looking at that tree regularly has very real and documented mental benefits. In the way we’re built we benefit from viewing greenery.

With these things in mind, is it any wonder that Tolkien, in his masterful fictional works, often describes evil places by telling us that no trees grow there. He knew that there’s an instinct in us that shudders at that idea.¹

You may not have such a tree outside your window. I’ve got a number of trees to pick from but this one is the most majestic. Any tree is worthwhile. Pick a tree, any tree.

It could be a large tree or a small tree. It could be a thriving tree or a struggling tree. It could be a fruit tree. It could be deciduous or evergreen. It could be visible from a window in your home or it may be one you can see on a regular walk. It might even be near your regular place of work. Pick one. Connect to it. Let it become your contemplation tree. Take notice of it and watch it change through the year and over time.

I promise it will do you good.²

This may sound like a touch of woo-woo in our technology dominated society, but trust me, if you find a contemplation tree, you’ll thank me once you feel like you know that tree’s rhythm.

If prayer is something in your life, please pray for me.

Aroha nui,
Frank

1. This makes me think of the Tui mine destruction in the area where I used to go tramping while I lived in Te Aroha through my teens and twenties. No trees grow there.

2. Unless someone chops it down. That will be especially bad if they enjoy doing it. Then you’ll grieve, and when you’re ready you’ll pick another one. Sorry for the morbid moment.