"a grandeur of roots and branches, and ... much flowering" :-)

It is one of the silliest myths about growing older, that a woman becomes so complete that she needs nothing and is a fountain of everything for eveyone else.  No, she continues as a tree that needs water and air no martter how old it become.  The old woman is the same as a tree; there is no finality, no sudden completion, rather a grandeur of roots and branches, and with proper care, much flowering.

pp.488, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run with Wolves, Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman, Rider 1992

I love love LOVE this word-woven image from Estés of woman-as-tree... what a beautiful strong, calm image, and one that can be translated equally to men and all beings.  A happy occurrence too, that not long after reading this passage I spotted this mural on the Floripa uni campus grounds of UFSC.... not only does this women have the star and moon in her hair, she has a snail in her palm, branches growing from her veins, a pair of love doves in her hear, an eye for one nipple and a flower for the second, where a humming bird contentedly gathers pollen.  What a powerful image of harmony and growth.  :-)

The tree below is a fig tree, Ficus Microcarpa ('figueira' in Portuguese), photographed in Praça 15 de Noviembre, a square in the centre of Florianopolis.  A plaque at her feet tells the story of her arrival in the square:

One summer morning , full of sun and life,  in the month of February 1891, this young fig tree of perhaps 20 years age, was withdrawn from the Garden of Matriz and planted here with much affection.

This Figueria is certainly a majestic creature, a living breathing illustration of what is is to be a 'grandeur of roots and branches'... standing beneath her, looking up and craning the neck in all directions trying to follow the route of her branches I felt both in awe and peaceful.  In part this must come from being aware of being in the presence of a creature who is very old - from the plaque it seems that she is 142 years old.  

I remember feeling the same feeling of awe in the presence of the Fortingall Yew in Perthshire, when Steve and I stopped off to visit her on a cycle-camping journey though the Scottish Highlands (remember that tasty tea-break we had in the posh hotel the trees next too Steve?...mmmm!).  The Fortingall Yew really is an ancient creature who makes Floripa's Figueira seem a mere youngster... estimated to be between 2000 and 5000 years old, she is one of the oldest living trees in Europe.  Interestingly the way she has grown and developed, she now looks like a number of smaller trees, which is apparently due to the natural decay of the central, ring-bearing part of the once 16-metre wide trunk, the part of the tree known as the heartwood.  

With the yew's evergreen nature making it the tree of choice to plant in religious grounds, it is no wonder that the energy emanated by this particular ancient yew  has attracted religious celebrations to the site over the centuries.  A church is built alongside her today, and tales tell of old Beltane rituals being celebrated at her roots before that.  

The awareness of the age-d-ness of these trees is humbling.  

And this peaceful sensation of being a tiny grain in the universe alongside such a creature is comparable to that experienced when facing the vastness of the ocean.

Perhaps because alongside these bodies we're given a hint-of a glimpse at the enormity of the universe and time?
In reflecting on this I'm reminded of this brilliant video from Das Rad that David once shared with me (thanks again David, I often think of this film :-) )

Big love 

:-)