That large tree succumbing to gravity was an event that took place at the periphery of my consciousness. I passed by this spot in the park most days. I might have seen the park maintainers cutting its branches and hauling them away. It was winter, and green was gone from most of the trees. As I walked, our sun was setting across an open expanse. Against blue sky, a fiery orange glow burned along the upper branches of the fallen soldier’s survivors. I was drawn off the usual path.
There was a noticeable change in softness of the ground beneath my feet, as I slowly navigated the tall grasses, mugwort, and thorny growth. Plastic bags filtered from open winds were stuck like tumbleweeds in the brush. ‘Chipping’ sounds of sparrows streamed from a sheltered place. Layers of vines and brambles covered the bole of this horizontal giant. Using a deer path through the boneset and blackberry, I approached the place on earth where the tree once anchored its roots. I peered into hollow trunk. My eyes adjusted to darkness as spiral patterns of growth twisted the fibers of its wood. A sense of reaching towards light invited me to imagine I had entered some kind of time portal. The scent of decaying wood brought me into that timeless moment. Water molecules of a once great river to the sky returning earthbound in decay. Parenchyma ray structures hung like stalactites from the ceiling of this cave.
Still today there are many secret hiding places inside this hollow. Evidence of a furry creature’s nest prompts an exploration of texture in this place between growth rings. It must have taken tiny mouth parts to collect so many delicate, insulative bits of decaying wood, shriveled bits of plastic, and strands of seed silk from a boneset bloom. Such a cozy little nook, sheltered from the sometimes harsh breath of this place. Makes me think of a place to rest from the day. Of a place to return “home.”
This is but a single frame from a lifetime of motion-picture stories which unfold here on this great land. Land which was tended by people of the Piscataway tribe. This is a story about a place I call “sit spot.” Sit spot is the simple practice of finding a particular place outdoors where I sit quietly and observe. By taking myself out of my regular daily routine and reconnecting with the rhythms of the natural world, I begin to reconnect with my own true nature.
Slowly over time, I grow my practice, strengthening my awareness, expanding my capacity for noticing many offerings: flight patterns of winds and their birds, growth waves of vines, pleasantries of passing seasons. Tracing the contours of that oak still standing, I often find a reclined position at its buttress. Dressed warmly, sometimes I sit up straight, noticing just how low our sun can be at high noon on winter solstice. Its energy warms my closed eyelids. I sense that gentle giant is my protector, my place of learning, my embodied strength. There are secrets whispered through those dried leaves which hold twig through the dormant season. This is a place to set aside my worldly worries and to just be. A place where I regularly enter into a tender relationship. A tender relationship with myself. A tender relationship with all the beings around me. A tender relationship with my community of Maryland Naturalists.
A tree that had fallen, once at the edge of my awareness, is now at the center of my observation. Today I host volunteer park stewards to join me in wild tending. We gather up the plastic bags, manage some aggressive vegetation, and plant new trees. The idea of a sit spot was really just the beginning of a beautiful thing called reciprocity. Honoring the presence in all beings, I use the land for healing, and in this lifeway the land uses me for healing. Now more than ever, I invite you to ground your daily practices in these ancestral ways as we all work towards collective healing.