trees

Love of the Ancestors

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photo of sunset through the trees

I was communing with the trees this morning, and we spoke of the ancestors. (Yes, I talk with trees like the character in my first novel, Grandfather Poplar.) Trees hold their kindred in spirit as dearly as we do. Their memories remain in the trees that still live. We all retain the collective memory of our kin anchored deep within. The trees acknowledge the ones who came before and still think of them as living beings. Death is merely a passage, yet they treasure each moment of life and remain as long as they can, serving their purpose, living their light. Trees stay connected fully to their ancestors in spirit. Their kinship remains unbroken.

I often pray for the ancestors and try to live in a way that will honor them and their legacy and heal the family line of suffering. I believe our prayers can create a sacred space to extend pure love and grace through all the realms. May we relinquish all that we and our ancestors have held of trauma, fear, loss, and pain. May we unburden the ancestral lines for ourselves and for those who come before and after us.

In my heart and soul, I feel strongly that a moment of pure love reverberates through time and space and passes through all boundaries. We can send love into the past, present, and future and beyond the veil to all our kin and dear ones who are gone from the physical world. They feel our every memory and all the love we send.

Several years ago, my first cousin’s wife restored some black-and-white photos of the Henderson clan from over a century ago. I never met many of them because they died before I was born. I was thrilled by the photos and felt such an outpouring of love for every one of them. On the night I received the photos, they all came to life in a dream, and we had a most joyful celebration. The ones whom I never met were so happy to see and know me, and I was overjoyed to meet them and to reunite with those I had known and loved.

Trust that even now your loved ones in spirit are sending you love.

© copyright Lillian D. Henderson

Every Tree Has a Story

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Every tree has a story for those who know how to listen with the heart. Deep roots tell the old tales of forest friends long gone, of whispered winds and screaming gales, and a million bird songs. Ancient trees hold the Earth’s secrets, the buried memories of times gone by, of every screech owl’s cry, of all that transpires beneath the illumined sky. They stand a silent record to the footfalls of each soul who passes, and they remember from the seedling’s first stretch until they breathe their last beneath the treasured sun. Cherish them and they may whisper into the quiet longings of your heart and share the wisdom of all they have seen in their time among the green. —Diana Henderson

Every tree has a story for those who know how to listen with the heart. Deep roots tell the old tales of forest friends long gone, of whispered winds and screaming gales, and a million bird songs. Ancient trees hold the Earth’s secrets, the buried memories of times gone by, of every screech owl’s cry, of all that transpires beneath the illumined sky. They stand a silent record to the footfalls of each soul who passes, and they remember from the seedling’s first stretch until they breathe their last beneath the treasured sun. Cherish them and they may whisper into the quiet longings of your heart and share the wisdom of all they have seen in their time among the green. —Diana Henderson

copyright © 2019 Lillian D. Henderson

Living Among the Trees

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I’ve spent my entire life with trees in close proximity. In the 1980s, I lived on 20 acres filled with beauty. Trees surrounded me on all sides, and a creek meandered through the land. I recall a large moss-covered stone that would have made a perfect seat overlooking the brook. Of course, I never sat there. Something so old deserves respect. The forest held such peace. Grandfather Poplar was first born on that land, inspired by those trees and a crooked yellow poplar that lived among them. Poplars grow tall and straight, so a bent one stood out among the other trees. Almost two decades later I turned the story into a novel, as my writing teacher had suggested. I finally mustered the courage to publish it a decade after that. I invite you to read Grandfather Poplar if you haven’t. You may come to see trees as more than silent, stalwart plants and recognize the magic that lives in them and in us.

Unwelcome Dream

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I awakened today weeping. My chest heaved from sobs that brought me out of the dream.

When I was a child, I had a favorite hickory tree whom I often climbed. Although her lowest limbs were a good six feet off the ground, I managed to shinny up so I could hang upside down from those sturdy branches. This jovial tree never seemed to mind that she was my personal monkey bars. In my dream, this tree had grown tall and mighty, but her life was being threatened. Many of my other childhood tree friends were already gone in the dream.

I climbed high in her branches, chained myself to her, and began to shout to those who waited to take her life that I would not let them. I pleaded with them as a crowd of neighbors gathered, and soon someone called the news station. As I spoke passionately to the people there, I could not hold back the tears. I began to sob uncontrollably. This yanked me out of the dream, my chest still heaving as I held my hand over my heart.

The trees of the world are crying out to us as surely as the ones who wept as our neighbors cleared the land all those years ago when I was overwhelmed with the understanding that I had to write Grandfather Poplar (see blog at https://grandfatherpoplar.com/2015/12/08/65/). It’s time to save our friends who offer us so much. 💚🌳🌲

Grandfather Poplar, the novel, is available on Amazon at http://bit.ly/GrandfatherP.

Lost in the woods

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There’s a stretch of road on my way to and from the office that goes by a nature preserve. The overlighting consciousness of that forest, which some call its Deva, spreads her energy outward to encompass the whole area. Even the subdivisions nearby are filled and surrounded with long-standing trees—all of whom were once a part of her forest—and her energetic boundaries still extend through those places that echo with the memory of life before the world invaded her sanctuary.

My husband and I call this place “the zone,” because as we drive through the area we may well forget where we are. Such is the strength of presence of this forest Deva.

After work I often like to sojourn in those woods and walk along the creekside trails or wander up the bluffs, and the Deva always welcomes me as one who holds her dear. Although this preserve is small now compared to the vastness of the forest long ago, the presence of elemental consciousness and the invisible dwellers of the woodland abound in this place as purely as it ever did.

Sometimes I get lost in the woods. Not literally, of course, for I know those pathways well, but I let go of the world of man there and allow myself to step outside of time and simply be. Sometimes my consciousness drifts on the stream or soars to the treetops or sinks into the earth beneath me. When I make my way back to the car, minutes or hours may have passed without my notice, and I am renewed beyond measure in the sense of my true self.

I invite you to go to the forest and lose track of time. Become one with clouds and stones and trees. Listen to the singing water and the laughing breeze and remember who you are.

Magenta Rays

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magentasunlightbrook

Magenta rays filtered through the trees
Reflect in your waters of pure peace;
Here in the woodland I swim the seas
Of earthly wonders that never cease.
Pines above supply a silken screen
For each ray that wafts into this dream;
Its solar song lighting your sweet green
In soft hues that glimmer in your stream.
Here I live in your serenity
Bathed in your soundless, soothing light;
Here I claim my true identity
In this place that beckons me to flight.
All illusion now I leave behind;
Each step into your depths the world unwinds.
Here in your embrace no more confined,
Spirit merges with my heart and mind.
And I am one with you beyond time
In this paradise, this sacred shrine,
Among clouds and trees and Earth sublime,
As light and love and grace forever shine.

© 2016 L. Diana Henderson
Grandfather Poplar, the novel, is on sale at http://bit.ly/GrandfatherP.
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