Stop to think and think without stopping
First of all we need a big fat dollop of Po. Po is the thinking tool of our age developed by Mr Edward De Bono, the Father of Lateral Thinking. It encourages a break from binary black and white yes or no thinking which can sometimes block our curiosity, research, creativity and problem solving. Po is the third way. If I say po to something, I do not say the something (perhaps an idea) is wrong, I do not say it is right, I do not say anything at all but I do accept to take the idea and run with it; see where it takes me, see what it tells me, see what I think and investigate further.Po Tree Possibilities...
Anne-Laure suggested that trees have an inner nature, that this is an objective fact, and that we can develop our innate ability to recieve information about this inner nature...we and trees have something to do with one another.
The Experiment
We present ourselves before one of 5 trees (pine, maple, holly, beech or lime), stay silent and humble, and see what happens. And then we investigate further as we feel right: perhaps approach the tree, use senses of sight, touch, smell taste and sound, and write down our observations.
This method gives credence to the whole human being as tool of investigation, and values artistic expression as a way of accessing and describing objective 'inner' truth.
Then said Anne-Laure, we will re-group to share our impressions, to see if any of us perceived the same thing, and to be filled in by Anne-Laure on what she knows about the tree.
Holly and me
I was sulking when I stood before the Holly because I wanted to do a pine with a shaggy trunk but everyone said oh no that's not a pine it's a something or other that I didn't understand in French; so why did Anne-Laure point it out then, and why didn't JC tell me to bring a pen and paper he doesn't think of me and I made his picnic and of course he has a pen for himself, and why is it raining quite so hard and why am I here?
I stood in front of the Holly for quite some time and nothing happened other than ever increasing wetness.
Then I felt a strip of warmth from the top to the centre of my chest. It was an intense, inner heat. I wondered if this was my personal sensation and nothing to do with the holly so once I had finished with the holly I tried the same thing with the Maple and got an unmistakable and quite different sensation, a sort of whoosh going outwards and floating on the airs with its almost horizontal branches, a specific form of movement which I could imitate with my arms. The heat came again when I returned to the Holly.
With the comfortable heat glowing in my chest, I looked at the tree's scraggy shape, a tangle of tough defensive leaves. I looked at its way of growing: no harmonious and high symmetrical growth and shape; I sensed a reluctance to shoot upwards, but rather an impulse to shoot up a little and then out, and then in this direction and then in that, and then to pull back, and then to shoot out again, and to keep the growth for itself, close to it's centre.
Mmm. After a while I plucked up the courage to go closer to the tree. It's leaf crown was parted in one place and I entered and approached the trunk. The tripartate and intertwining trunk was small and had a delicate pale skin. When I touched it I was surprised, it felt warm and supple like a child's limb, and very sensitive and vulnerable in contrast to the leaves. It felt marvellously good close inside the crown of prickly leaves and I felt moved almost to tears...of joy.
I began to really notice the leaves, the edges pale, the tips of the points pale brown and dry, the spaces between the points perfectly rounded, the skin glossy and leathery. Then I noticed that the leaves were not, as I supposed from afar, tangled up in a disordered fashion. Each leaf, rather than overlapping like the maple leaves, interlocked, so each leaf had its own space as it danced in between the other. And each individual leaf twisted in every direction, as if expecting to be attacked or to capture joy from every direction. This appeared to me a marvellous and exuberant thing. This tree was exploring all directions, all possibilities, in constant reformation and eternal dance of life. It was plucky and difficult, defensive and joyous. I couldn't help but admire it's all-angles reaching out and connecting, and its endurance, remaining richly green leafed in all seasons, growing steadily, able to become very old and very tall in time, but somehow still youthful.
The berries were nut hard a satin finish, grew in the angle between the branchings on the tiniest of stalkettes, close to the stem.
An unshaped box tree grew next to it. The box veered in one direction, the holly in the other, so they both had space. The branches rose from the trunk, dipped, but did not droop as if defeated, formed an arc and then seemed to chose again to rise towards the sky at the tip.
I went to find a bigger older holly because I wanted to know what the trunk was like, whether it would thicken and crack with age. The aged skin was criss crossed with fine lines, but not in any way thickened or wrinkled.
If I had to say a medicinal virtue, from it's inner heat and central strength, I would say: Heart.
I felt quite full after all that. I presented myself to the Maple for contrast and comparison, but I didn't stay long, it was quite enough.
* this is a porky pie
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