Paradise Lost

The destruction of the trees broke the spell of the paradise. I inadvertently introduced my own nature into the environment and the result appalled me. My own action kicked me out of the garden that is Bohemia. How often do we feel like we’ve lost paradise and how often do we name it?

In John Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost, consciousness only comes through this type of rupture. There’s a loss and an awakening. I didn't know that losing those trees would result in my feeling like I had ruptured my connection to the place. There was something deep in my core, and I witnessed myself breaking it. And that rupture has revealed to me a deeper connection to my own life purpose.

As Milton wrote:

“Thus with the Year

Seasons return, but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of Ev’n or Morn,

Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;

But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark

Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men

Cut off, and for the book of knowledg fair

Presented with a Universal blanc

Of Natures works to mee expung’d and ras’d,

And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.”

World Tree

Another layer of thinking about all this is the Gigantic Fir as the world tree. I didn't cut down just any ole tree, but the tree that connected the land to the world and me. My sensitivity is non-rational. My grief is beyond rational. Deep down, I injured the spirit of connectedness of man and nature.

My reasons for establishing Ten Strands was to teach at the scale of the entire education system, that we must protect the environment. Here I am, trying to remedy the blight of mankind, and I’ve participated in it. This whole tree experience has created a new awakening that didn’t come at the beginning of my career, and has become the most intimate experience behind my environmental work.

Violating Mother Earth

I have learned, that I, like anybody else, am capable of causing harm to the environment. And I can also cause pain to that which I love. In trying to make peace with my deed, I must admit that I did damage to something I hold as sacred. That process of acceptance is humanizing and humbling.

So, to sum up the psychology of all this. I didn't know it at the time, but the Big Fir was a reference point. I inadvertently destroyed it. I participated in the very thing that I have spent my life preventing: A disregard for the natural world. And now I must find a way to live in peace with my mistake.

Macho Macho Man

Cutting down the firs happened during a period in my professional environmental education life where I was experiencing a great deal of pride in my accomplishments. I was motivating leaders in Sacramento to embrace the idea of environment-based education for all 6,200,000 students in California’s education system. Also, I had just accomplished a feat at Bohemia. I had defied all my advisors and achieved approval for a stream restoration project in under 6 months. How? I knew the person in Congress who held the key, and called him.

Hubris got a grip on me. I ignored the potentially negative emotional responses to the outcome of my actions. I had a blind spot that often accompanies hubris. My blind spot was not knowing how important those trees would become to me after they were gone. I'm upset at myself for not foreseeing the misery my decision would cause in me.

My best buddy and I have been doing annual retreats ever since completing a trip around the world after college. On a recent one, we decided to camp at Bohemia. I revealed my sensitivity to trees, how I form relationships with certain ones. I admitted my anguish over cutting down the oldest tree at Bohemia. My friend said my relationship with trees is unusual and I should own it.

He told me to make some artful expression about what trees mean to me. "Take 15 minutes, right now," he suggested.

So, I did, and here it is:

To me

Trees are playful, soulful, mournful, wise and somber connections To our ancestors and our descendants.

They transcend time, outlive humans, corporations, political parties, Kings’ reigns, regimes, even countries.

They are the perfect being. Altruistic.

They not only provide food for themselves but are host to countless other creatures.

Their shade cools. Their leaves oxygenate.

Their roots keep soil on mountains.

Their mycelium nurtures micro-organisms that in turn help the tree. They cooperate for light.

Even in death they nurture by decomposing.

Humans kill them for shelter. Humans burn them for growing crops.

Humans carve initials to capture ephemeral love. Mossy covering makes me want to make love to them. So to me, I am one. I need to find another to love.

After reading it, I actually cried. My friend watched me and rather than belittle me, he said how fortunate it is to have something as common as a tree, be able to touch deeply hidden emotions.

III- The Symbolism

What I have inadvertently stumbled upon is a fascination about trees that goes beyond the biology and psychology.

I've entered the world of the symbolic tree and am exploring what it means to be in touch with the symbolic world, where there is interconnectedness of everything, an amplification connecting me to the larger human history.

The tree has been mythologized ever since there were humans looking for meaning in life. There’s the tree of life, sacred tree, tree of death, tree of knowledge, world tree, cosmic tree and so on.

America’s first mythological relationship with a tree was through George Washington’s Cherry tree. The lesson is about not lying, and informs practically very child’s ethical behavior. Early school, we learn about the apple that fell from the tree that Newton was sitting under, leading to his insights about gravity. Many of us have read The Lorax to our children. Most recently, the tree was eulogized in James Cameron’s blockbuster movie, Avatar.

Let’s zero in on the oak and the fir.

Throughout history, the most widely worshipped tree has been the oak, for its commanding presence and its long life, up to 1,000 years, and its utilitarianism- anything could be made with its wood from bridges to wine corks.

They evoke what is royal, solid and eternal, associated with cycles of birth and death. Virgil claimed that the first human was birthed by an oak tree. He noted its strength, that not even lightening could uproot it. Ancient Druids dragged oak logs to burn at yuletide, the winter solstice. In Greek and Roman mythology, oaks were sacred to the thunder god Zeus and Jupiter. People thought mistletoe was lightening clinging to its branches.

Carl Jung used the oak tree symbolism to embody the human psyche. The roots extend into the mineral realm like the human self is rooted in the corporeal body. As a mature oak evolves from an acorn, so does each person’s psychic individuality emerge from a tiny seed. The trunk is the solid core of personality. While the branches are sensitive reactors to outer influences, the trunk is solid, and connected to its core through the roots.

The symbolism of pine trees, including the fir (which is not a true pine, but a False Hemlock), is associated with Confucius. It’s the symbol of long life, hardiness, immortality, courage, strength in adversity and steadfastness unaffected by nature’s blows. Also, fertility, creativity, regeneration and good luck. The pine was sacred to the Greek and Roman gods including Zeus, Artemis, Dionysus and Poseidon.

Of all trees, the pines are the most ancient. They are thought to be godliest since they reach to the heavens. They are venerated for many reasons, one being that they stay green year around. Others are the healing characteristics of making medical teas from the needles and the bark.

Trees all around the world have been honored and held sacred. There’s the ginkgo planted in 2132 BC that dominates the Zempukuji Buddhist temple in Tokyo, and the ancient Bo tree at Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka, the tree grafted from the tree under which Buddha sat. There’s the Cypress at Verucchio, Northern Italy that St Francis himself planted in 1200. And the Baobabs in Botswana, where the ancestral spirits of the native peoples are thought to live.

To me, a tree evokes the “I and Thou” relationship of nineteenth century German philosopher, Martin Buber. My interaction with the tree isn’t transactional, just a quick noticing of it and moving on, what Buber calls an “I- it” relationship. I don’t just stand next to a tree. I revel in its presence. It has a personality, a way of communicating, a way of expanding my thoughts and of drawing out my feelings like relationships do.