{"id":2629,"date":"2020-09-24T21:41:28","date_gmt":"2020-09-24T11:41:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/?p=2629"},"modified":"2020-09-24T22:10:00","modified_gmt":"2020-09-24T12:10:00","slug":"the-old-gum-tree-and-the-ironbark","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/?p=2629","title":{"rendered":"The Old Gum Tree and the Ironbark"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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I was feeling very out of sorts today \u2013 precipitated by a Migraine attack that forced me to \u2018STOP\u2019 and rest.<\/p>\n

Away from my glaring computer screen, lying down, I began to tune in to my body so I could observe how it felt. I mean \u2018really\u2019 felt. How often do any of us do that? Really check in with how we are feeling. As I scanned, weighed, held and shifted through the vibrations within, I couldn\u2019t deny the unmistakable feeling of grief. It was clasped around my throat, fluttering in my solar plexus and twisting in my stomach.<\/p>\n

Grief? But where had it come from? Why had it settled within, like a skulking, wounded animal, or a squatter stealing the joy from someone else\u2019s home?<\/p>\n

I felt compelled to walk the talk. To do as I have so often advised others on a road to healing. Write without form. Write without thinking.<\/p>\n

Perhaps, if you\u2019re able, you can follow seemingly unconnected words like breadcrumbs into the darkness. There\u2019s always a chance you\u2019ll flush the real emotion, thought or feeling out into the daylight, to be examined, to be acknowledged for what it truly is. For me, it\u2019s a rogue energy that\u2019s stolen my joy, leaving me bereft. Such is grief.<\/p>\n

These last few months have been stressful in one way or another \u2013 on an emotional level at least. \u00a0We\u2019re all suffering as a result of this COVID situation. Here on Lorikeet Lane, we have counted our blessings. And then counted them again. We are luckier than most and we know it.<\/p>\n

But like anyone, we still feel sad that much anticipated and longed for plans have fallen apart. We feel the loss. Simple hugs and time spent with loved ones become \u2018treasured memories\u2019 to reflect on in our relative isolation.<\/p>\n

As I say, we are luckier than most. We are the custodians of endless space under a benevolent blue sky.<\/p>\n

I open the veranda doors to allow the cool Southerly breeze to flow through the house. As I lay on the couch, I feel refreshed by the chill settling on my brow. From where I lie, I have a view of the Old Gum Tree.<\/p>\n

Her branches are reaching out to me across the deck, like a mother\u2019s hand extended, patting down an infant in a pram. Her elongated leaves bristle in the wind, and yet I sense her busyness is accompanied by a melancholy. All at once, I feel the grief wash over me again.<\/p>\n

I \u2018feel\u2019 the Old Gum Tree speak to me. Since moving to this property, I have often \u2018communicated\u2019 with the Spirit that envelops us here. As soon as we first arrived on this spot it called to me. I didn\u2019t care what the house was like \u2013 I just knew I needed to be on this land.<\/p>\n

I started my own journey of healing here \u2013 helped by the outstretched leaves the smell of Earth \u2013 and the unique, coded downloads of light I absorb on a daily basis.<\/p>\n

I promise myself I will just write whatever comes. I am familiar with that feeling of being unable to keep up with the words as they flow \u2013 I am familiar with the illegible scrawl that blurts from my pen\u2013 the words that demand to be written so they may be exorcised along with the emotion they carry.<\/p>\n

Grief. Could it be I am feeling grief for the two trees that have to be cut down on our property? Both are less than 10 metres from the house.<\/p>\n

They stand proud like ancient Elders on this land, front and back, scanning, surveying the ridge \u2013 still with an instilled sense of purpose and responsibility \u2013 while simultaneously nodding down on the life that plays below.<\/p>\n

One is sick and dying. She is the old Ironbark behind our house. The crimson red resin that bleeds from cracks in her blackened, wrinkled bark, hardens and twinkles like a Ruby, jewelled in the sunlight. In the twilight the resin takes on a candied appearance \u2013 though either way \u2013 beautiful, remarkable in her resilient substance.

She is arched and frail and has been quite stubbornly stoic in the face of her back-breaking pain. \u00a0She stands as patiently as a loyal dog, waiting for the command that allows her to lie down and rest awhile. \u00a0Though she may feel a blessed relief to be released from her post, I feel sad for her just the same. She is a part of our landscape. Indeed, she was here casting her gaze over the ridge long before the foundations of our home. Long before we set foot on this property. There is an energy of the Great Mother about her. She belongs here. And yet. She is precarious in the way she bends towards the roof at the back of our house \u2013 stooping, swaying.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Though she is sick, she still provides shelter and a sense of home. She\u2019s given me moments of wisdom and healing. I can see the stories of her past etched upon her and she reminds me of the times I used to sit with my grandmother at the kitchen table. Just talking and spending ordinary, precious time together.<\/p>\n

Her outstretched, weary branches still provide protection and shade for the young raucous hens below, or a bow for the courting Australian Wood Ducks to jostle and woo, before bonding for life. The dear old Ironbark protects life from the eagle eyes that circle above but will just as willingly offer a rest stop for that same Eagle, providing a vantage point to survey the menu in an adjoining paddock. But the sad reality is, for all her willingness to nurture, she is a danger to herself \u2013 and to those she protects. We had knowingly put off the day when we would have to make some tough decisions about her future.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

With love comes huge and sometimes achingly painful responsibility.<\/p>\n

The other tree – the one my eyes rest on now \u2013 the one that\u2019s reaching over to me with a concerned presence \u2013 is the one that pains me the most. This tree\u2019s impending demise feels more callous, more brutal because, though she is weary, she still participates fully in her life on the property. Enveloping. Protecting. She is resolute and proud.<\/p>\n

The Old Gum Tree has already adapted to adversity more than once \u2013 her twin trunk now being her weakness rather than her strength. The split happened early on life. The left trunk bears left to overhang the front of our house while the right stretches skyward, backward, swaying with an unpredictable abandon, flailing in the wind.<\/p>\n

The most striking feature of the left-hand trunk is a strong, horizontal bare branch. It juts out at right angles creating the perfect perch for the three Kookaburras that take turns to outlaugh each other as the sun dips below the ridge. It\u2019s the perfect presentation platform for the Butcher Bird when she boastfully introduces her new clutch of chicks to us. It\u2019s the place of respite for the exhausted Magpies who send their over-sized young to say hello to us while they take a much-needed rest from the incessant demands for food. So much life comes to sit on that branch, and we have a unique and privileged vantage point being so elevated ourselves. Here we reside amongst the Cockatoos and King Parrots under the benevolent, blue sky. Alas, fire season approaches.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t understand the tears below the surface. The grief that\u2019s demanding to be acknowledged.<\/p>\n

I feel somehow, I am betraying what I promised to protect. \u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

After the unconditional support and shelter they have provided \u2013 I am to be responsible for cutting them down. I will preside over their fate. \u00a0I feel they know on some level \u2013 perhaps through their interconnected root system or through osmosis \u2013 but they know these are the last days they will see the sun set over the ridge.<\/p>\n

As I continue to write \u2013 encouraging the emotion to surface – without thought \u2013 without judgment. My thoughts take a surprising turn and I find my inner viewfinder resting on Peter\u2019s parents.<\/p>\n

I met Peter\u2019s mum (my mother-in-law) the very same year I lost my own mother.<\/p>\n

I was welcomed as though I had been long ago lost to them, and now returned.<\/p>\n

A memory of Peter and I announcing our engagement surfaces. Like branches, his mum extends her loving arms out to me, and as I stand there, eyes shining, she cups her hands around my face. She draws me in, holds me in a space of tenderness and love. I allow her to pour this love into me, knowing I have been unable to \u2018allow\u2019 before. In that moment she voluntarily steps forward to help me heal my own deep and aching mother wound. Peter\u2019s father and I need no words \u2013 osmosis. A knowing. But love vibrates at its own frequency. It does not need to be uttered, It is felt.<\/p>\n

The engagement. A bonding moment, rippling like rings in a tree, encircling Peter and myself. \u00a0I feel an acceptance I have rarely experienced in my life. A healing. It reminds me of the pure unconditional love I feel as the Ascended Masters, Elders and Guides step forward in my little studio. The connection, the belonging and the healing this land has poured into me. Whispering its secrets …<\/p>\n

Then suddenly the tears blurt along with the words \u2026<\/p>\n

These last few months have been stressful in one way or another \u2013 on an emotional level at least \u2026 you see we\u2019ve had to make some tough decisions lately \u2026 for The Gum Tree and the Old Ironbark \u2026<\/p>\n

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I was feeling very out of sorts today \u2013 precipitated by a Migraine attack that forced me to \u2018STOP\u2019 and rest. Away from my glaring computer screen, lying down, I began to tune in to my body so I could observe how it felt. I mean \u2018really\u2019 felt. How often do any of us do Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2665,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[84],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2629","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-good-life-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2629","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2629"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2629\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2677,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2629\/revisions\/2677"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2665"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2629"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2629"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorielane.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2629"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}