This imposing old oak tree stares at me as I walk by. I am mobile and he is not. I can walk to countless destinations; he remains rooted. I can swim to various places; he remains in the Earth. I can change my surroundings when I am unhappy or fearful; he must face whatever comes head on. I can hide myself from interaction with others; he must graciously take whatever presents itself to him. I can protect and defend myself; he must remain completely passive to all insults and harm.
A mighty oak; a silent sentinel. |
Is it no wonder then, that we look at old oak trees and call
them “mighty oaks”? Is it no wonder that
their wood is so solid and hard? Should
we be surprised that things built from oak stand the test of time over and
over? I used to think that my ability to
move from place to place wherever I fancied made me a privileged species, and
in some ways, of course, that’s true.
But it does not make me a patient species. It does not make me a serene species. In my constant movement back and forth, I
seem to have forgotten how to remain solid, how to stand tall.
What would you be like if you had to bear any weather
condition without complaint? If you had
to live in one spot only, and a spot that you didn’t even choose? If you had to patiently bear all of your
surroundings? If you could not run and
hide when you were fearful? If you had
to passively accept any action done by another?
And we think we know what strength is.