Be the Tree 🌲 (A Love Letter to What Holds Us)
I can’t fully explain the experience.
Which, by some standards, might make it a poor choice for a blog. But here I am writing about it anyway — because it left me with something rare: a quiet, lasting sense of being a small part of a much greater design.
I’d set off for a simple day hike through Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park in California. It was just an item on a bucket list, nothing overly intentional. But the moment I stepped into that forest, time rearranged itself. Sunlight filtered through cathedral-like canopies, and the air felt thick with a kind of sacred hush. Everyone I passed wore the same expression — a blend of awe and reverence. Like we were all walking through some kind of living cathedral.
Then it happened.
I was standing in front of one of the great trees — massive, noble, ageless — when an unexpected wave of tenderness washed over me. And without thinking, I stepped forward, arms wide, and hugged her.
Yes. A tree.
And no, I wasn’t on a vision quest. I wasn’t there to seek answers. I wasn’t even aware of the questions I was carrying.
But the moment my cheek pressed into her bark, I felt it — the hum of energy, a solid stillness, a presence. The kind that doesn’t need words. And something in me, some unspoken ache, just... let go. I stood there, weeping quietly, like a child in the arms of someone ancient and kind.
I’ve felt energy before — from people, music, oceans. But this was different, as if she had seen thousands like me. As if she had stood through fire and flood, sorrow and celebration, and somehow kept loving the world anyway.
I wondered: how many people had leaned into her? How many prayers had been whispered to her bark? She’d stood for over 600 years. And through it all, her answer has been the same: strengthen your roots. Reach for the sky.
I walked away changed. Not in the dramatic, epiphany-on-the-mountaintop kind of way. But in a quieter, cellular way.
Held. Heard. Humbled.
By a tree.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe we don’t always need to understand the experience to receive its wisdom. Maybe our role in the chaos of the world isn’t to fix it all, but to become more rooted, more still, more receptive. Maybe it’s enough to be a presence of peace, a source of listening so deep that others feel held within it.
That’s what she taught me.
Strengthen your roots. Reach to the sky.
It’s become a mantra I whisper to myself when I feel overwhelmed or unsure. And now, I offer it to you:
Be the tree.
Stand quietly in the storm. Let your presence calm others. Be the one who listens so fully, so openly, that people walk away feeling less alone.
This is what I wish for us all — that we become sanctuaries for each other in a wild and whirling world.
In deep awe and grounded grace,
Tania