In the woods there are certain special trees that have ears. They are the sentinels, the watchdogs, of the forest. They hear everything and know everything that occurs in the woods, and their system for alerting the other trees of our intentions makes our own communication systems appear primitive.
This old birch has ears running all the way up her trunk in
a circular pattern, reaching for the sky.
She is an old guardian, and she hears everything: the hum of the Earth and the animals, the
insects and the rain, the birds and the wind, and finally, our ethereal thoughts. The highest ear hears the vibrations of the
spirit and relays them to the heavens.
“Tell me your hopes and dreams,” the old birch says, “I am listening.”
Our deeds are amplified in the woods and in the forests of
our own minds because there is nowhere to hide in either. There are no walls behind which to conceal
yourself, no roof to shelter under. In
the inner forest of thoughts, there are no secrets. Everything you say and do is heard, and a
record is kept. Your intentions are
broadcast to others whether you know it or not.
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| Tree ears run all the way up the trunk of the old birch. |
