Meditate Like a Tree
Trees are incredible teachers of impermanence, even as they provide the illusion that things always stay the same. If you live in a neighborhood with a lot of trees, like I do, you see the same ones every time you take a walk. They're easy to take for granted, often fading into the background. They seem permanent and fixed, standing as silent observers for decades or even centuries, typically outliving humans and most other creatures. This makes them a powerful example of the illusion of permanence. Yet, a tree itself is always changing. While some changes are obvious—their leaves shifting with the seasons, or flowers and fruits appearing and disappearing—trees are also constantly changing in imperceptible ways. Their trunks thicken, branches extend, and roots deepen over time. Trees stand out in the open, accepting whatever changes come their way. But you could walk past the same tree your entire life and only notice the most apparent transformations, easily assuming that for the most part, they stay the same.
Sometimes, it's hard to truly sit with the idea of impermanence, especially since it can lead to thoughts of the inevitability of aging and death. Contemplating trees and their impermanence offers a gentle way to reflect on the impermanence of all other things, including ourselves. Trees benefit from very long, seemingly unchanging lives. If left undisturbed, they can exist for hundreds of years without much to worry about. We humans, in comparison, live very short lives, and it's in our nature to worry and struggle. However, we also have the incredible gift of being able to take action. We can move freely and make choices to change our lives for the better in an instant.
When walking around my neighborhood, I've started paying closer attention to all the trees nestled among the houses. I think about how lucky I am to be surrounded by them and how much I enjoy their shade. I like to imagine all the things they've witnessed: how many people they've observed coming and going, all the families moving in and out of homes, how many children they've seen grow from babies to toddlers to teenagers. They've silently watched houses being torn down or repaired, and countless times, seen wet concrete being poured to create a sidewalk, then watched as a family wrote their names in it with a stick, leaving their mark for many generations to see long after the family is gone.
Sometimes, when walking my dog Wimbly, and she takes her time sniffing around in one spot, I like to look up and watch the leaves of a tree moving in the wind. This is one of my favorite meditative moments. I focus on the movement of the leaves and how the wind moves them for no reason at all—meaning, the wind doesn't move the leaves with a purpose, it's not for show, nor does it move the leaves and branches to assert control over the tree. The wind blows because that's what the wind does. The leaves move because it's in their nature to move with the wind. I take a moment to feel like a tree myself and contemplate my own nature: standing still, feeling permanent, yet knowing I am impermanent and changing, even if only imperceptibly on the inside. I take the time to wonder at this illusion—the sense that things always stay the same—and the profound knowledge that change is constantly happening all around me.
