Oak Dreams - The Lessons of the Oak. Meeting and Journeying with an Oak Tree By the Track.
I wandered the land until I came to a great oak at the end of the track by the gate. I sat down at its roots and waited. Those who have ever learned anything have sat at the foot of a tree. Trees were there way before man and they will be there long after we have gone. Despite our best efforts to raze them to the ground they will rise again from seeds lain dormant a hundred years and more in the earth.
Oak, the Tree of the Noonday Sun and the Moon of Mistletoe.
Oak, the tree of the noonday sun and the moon of mistletoe. The bronze sickle gold in the light harvesting moonbeams. Gathering poetry among the boughs having climbed up to the skies. There among the leaves treasure is found. Acorns hang green holding wisdom silent. Come autumn they will be feasts for boars and jays to gorge themselves upon. The oak remembers the time when humans used to make bread with its fruits. Baked in the fire and broken open between those sat in the firelight telling stories.
Oak Ritual and Teaching
The oak taught the ritual of patience, of waiting for gratification for you can’t grind acorns up and eat them straight away. First the tannins have to be leached out in order to create the raw material for turning into flour. It taught that you have to nurture the tree if you want the wild pigs. It taught that you have to care for the tree if you want the wild bird. It taught that the essence of life is essentially one of giving and receiving. The life of an oak tree is essentially the life of everything around it. You kill the tree, you kill life. Oaks and ancient peoples knew this simple truth but we modern peoples have forgotten and so we chop down the trees and wonder where all the birds went.
Oak Journey In The Land
At last, a path opened up, down in to the ground by the roots of the tree. Sinking into the soil I became aware of the tiny bone fragments and rock crystals and insects in their subterranean world. This dark soil where life begins and ends is the domain of the deep rooted oak tree. Not for nothing does it court the lightning strike. It brings the heavens to earth so the sky gods can make love with those of the dark realms. Its’ trunk is thick, its branches wide. It spreads itself out, a canopy to the sun and welcome shade for creatures large and small beneath its boughs.
I was sat there a long time. The tree stood still, its branches moving slightly in the occasional breeze. My eyes acclimatised to the land around me. Now I saw the indents on the meadow, shadows of past lives, and the rise and curve of the hill. Every grass plant was whispering to the other. Timothy Grass and Rye, Festuca Rubra and Soft Rush. The harebells so delicate happily nodded their heads deep in conversation with the yarrow and coltsfoot. All safe under the gentle protective gaze of the oak.
It was there in the grass I made out a faint shape nearly hidden. I reached forward and saw dried in the sun the corpse of a mole. Bright sun illuminating a shy creature of depth and shade. Me and mole sat together in the sun and dreamed, warm and safe, under the oak of the stories and songs of the land.
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