These trees leaned towards the river, with their roots woven into the soil. Many walked carefully along this narrow path for hundreds of years, not to hook their foot into the trees' roots.
How often I stood there casting a stone into the river as a symbolic gesture of letting go, and at the same time, prayed that as I let go of whatever was bothering me, my roots would be like the tree's roots strong, steady, and secure. The imagery soothed in its lessons: Letting go, holding on, and like the river reaching out, a continuous circle of contradiction and connectedness. Not all at once, but it gave a passage for anyone who might need to sort their heart, mind, or deeper self if they stopped and contemplated on the imagery the trees gave.
As I mentioned earlier on my blog, nearly fifty of them were felled due to disease.
The path looks vastly different. One could say empty or an avenue for sunshine to fill the space.
Both are true.
Understanding and accepting something or someone rarely goes hand in hand.
But when it does, the path opens up gracefully.
What allows that challenging path to give way to grace?
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