Not an actual fire: the red of injured wood and sunset.
But how much of this unexpected colour in the dark world of a winter wood!
I went to the Reserve to check trees and sit with Kairos. I have not felt that the conversations with trees have really flowed for some time. Or, not regularly. But when I sit there, I cease fretting about that and just sink into the connection and contentment. There is a human grasping quality to so much of the New Agey stuff that I find myself engaged with... I mean there is all this, "What is this teaching me? How will I grow? What will I become?" Even in practices that claim to appreciate the sacred nature of the more-than-human I experience this inherent and uncommented upon narcissism.
With Kairos, I just, therefore, sat. The tree said, "It's hard to explain things to you who are not a tree."
And then I stood and I saw the evening sky.
The wild and wilful beauty of it.
Not there for me. Just there. And isn't that what matters? To appreciate what is just there?
Each time the world arranges itself with poetic intent, each time it manifests in the poetic image of our invocation, it is as if it presents itself to us for the very first time. It is as if the veil of the ordinary is drawn aside and a mythic world that exists only for our eyes, pristine and untouched, still dripping with the dew of creation, is vouchsafed to us. There is such intimacy in this revelation, such incomparable largesse in the gift, such breath-taking unexpectedness, we cannot help but surrender to it. Thereafter we will become as infatuated, at some level, as a mystic, holding the world as a beloved in our hearts despite the undiminished perils, griefs and trials it presents to us in our everyday transactions. - Freya Mathews
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