Tree People

Tree People

Three Thirty! 

In the morning? 

Now?

OK, give me a minute to wake up.

It was quiet in the neighborhood. 

The dogs had finally quit barking.

The stars are bright tonight.

I walked out side. It was a little chilly so I went back and got a jacket.

It is not the first time that this has happened and probably not the last.

I looked around the neighborhood.

No one else was awake.

The street light lit up the street and I saw a pine tree across the street.

I looked at it.

It was tall, probably close to a hundred years old.

I had a thought.

I walked over to the tree and stood there and put my hands on it.

Nothing yet ...

Oh, you are the one that woke me up?

What?

You have a message for me?

Ok...

Do you want me to write it down?

I’ll remember it?

Ok, go ahead.

Uh huh ...

Here?

How long?

What do you want me to do?

Ok, I will.

The next morning when I awoke, I waited for my wife to wake up.

My mind was pondering the things that happened early this morning.

Are you sure you want me to tell her?

OK ...

I related the events of the night to my wife. She sat on the bed with her eyes open and fully attentive to my words.

When I finished, she sat silent for a minute and then said ...

Yes, this is true.

It’s been going on for many years.

Everyone knows about it, but they don’t want to talk about it.

Even the cops know not to venture into certain places after dark.

We got dressed and ate some breakfast.

I want to show you some things here, she said.

She took me to the local church and showed me a huge rock.

Look at it!

What do you see?

What do you feel?

Walk over here and look at the pentagram pattern in the cement.

Can you see it?

Can you feel it?

What unfolded was an emotional story of lust, power, abuse, drugs, and corrupt church leaders.

I heard it from those who experienced it first hand.

Family members who have had their lives shattered.

Emotional abuse.

Sexual abuse.

Drugged victims who were forced to watch horrendous acts upon others.

Suicide.

Physical abuse.

Shame.

Grief. 

This is what the tree told me.

My extended family confirmed it.

Every act of goodness or wrong is recorded by nature. 

The trees record the weather patterns in their rings.

They also record the events that they witness.

This information is available to anyone who will listen.

I heard the message loud and clear.

There is a tree in Nevada that is 4,800 years old.

Outside of Logan Utah is a juniper stump that is 3,200 years old.

General Sherman in Sequoia national forest is about 2,500 years old.

The tree people are watchers. 

They are also story tellers.

I often see tree huggers when I hike. 

Some are embarrassed, but others are proud of their feelings towards the trees.

I often think about that tree in Snowflake Arizona and wonder if others have also heard the story.

That tree reminded me tonight that it time to tell the world.

The beginning of the end starts with listening.