The sun radiated over the hills that spilled from the scene in front of me and I watched as the lonely tree stood entirely haloed in a black ambience of the afternoon’s rays. The tree was dark and slightly leaning to the left. The afternoon was bright and everything seemed cheerful but at that moment there hung a cloud and as the sun disappeared for a milligram of a second, there appeared a slug-like colouring running right through the dark green tree. It looked like it was a crossed fir tree, but I had not seen one like that before. It was certainly a hybrid of some sort. And there was no shimmer running around the edging of him. He seemed alone there on the hill, but looking at him even more closely, one could see that he seemed to resemble a Siamese twin the way his bulky trunk split at the hip.
I allowed my eyes to wonder to another tree in the area, a lonely oak stood a few meters away and he seemed to glow with a golden tremble. I looked back at the tree on the hill and my heartfelt misery. There was something this tree was trying to say, it was sad, but it was a sadness that awakened one to enlightenment and lightness pure. I wondered from what earth was this tree absorbing its nutrients. I wondered what it was that lived or died in that ground just there. His colour was almost black. One rarely sees a black tree. It was as though he had died, but still had enough in him to appear very much alive. It was eerie, but fulfilling.
The space between the breathes of wind that afternoon left my skin with a strange prickle, as though that wind had something in it which ruffled my energy. My palms tingled and I just knew that something was buzzing in this place in which I stood. That there, on that ground, there lingered something which may in essence of time be long gone, but in the sense of energy and spirit, it lingered. In some places you stand one feels that the spirit and the energy lives and moves wholesomely. On this particular day, on this particular ground I felt that the energy was stale and lingering as opposed to flourishing of good things. My palms by this stage were red hot and itchy with the tingles.
The thing about colour is that it can deceive so easily. Black does not necessarily mean or imply death and danger and morbidity. There are many things and people who hover in and with the colour black and they have more life and vibrancy and purity than those who hold in the colour white. It is more about the energy of the black that details what is really going on. The flow of the energy and the space between the energy strands speaks enough. For most people though, it is about an instinctual feeling that we get with regards to something. For some it is first the feeling in the gut and then the colour follows and for others it is the opposite. There are a few who alternate with this and sometimes see the colour and then the energy and other times they feel the energy and establish the colour later.
I have met people who have had white hanging over them in the strongest of forms, only to recognise that it is so blinding one may easily be fooled into seeing them as the enigmatic pure people they want you to see. Beneath the blinding light there is another picture which their core and energy strands paint. Unfortunately there are so few who see past the blinding light and often have to get burnt first before they realise there is more to this person than they can imagine.
Too many fear the darkness in people, forgetting that beyond the darkness there may be fullness, a complete human being, harbouring true traits of warmth and serenity than the person who seems to be graced with the glorious hues of white. The colour of white and its refraction is enough to burn so harshly that one may be scared. Black is a solid colour, which may offer a sense of solidarity, stability and surety. The point I make: it is not in the colour that we can define a person’s true character. It is in their core that they may be seen.
So I looked back at the dark tree and wondered what I was truly feeling that day. I felt like I was standing in a place, completely stripped of my armour, and staring at something more than just a tree on a hill. There was something about it that kept me clinging to the bars of the gates for almost an hour. I wanted to scream at the tree and run up to it, put my hands just before its face. Instead I had to hope that there was a spiral of energy racing towards me from the tree, down the hill, into my feet and through my pulse. I remember breathing heavily and my heart beat quickened. My jaw locked and it felt like I was about to drool. I was so excited. I love the darkness.
As I walked away from that gated tree and its hill I closed my eyes and felt my way down the path. I stumbled upon a little carved marble block, sentiments of the memories a mum and dad had of their little bud who was “A tiny flower lent not given, To bud on earth and bloom in heaven, Mum & Dad”. My big, black, Siamese twin tree was very much alive. He lived on a hill that overlooked a cemetery. And he held the truths and sadness of many who had passed beneath his hill. He stood like a giant god and he adorned the tombstones and cherished those that had passed from this living life. But the dead do not end, for there is still energy which lives from them, there is still a fragment of their memory alive within someone who lives, or someone who once lived. That space where the marble block stood was full of little shooting spits of golden sunlight, shooting and jumping about like an over energised raisin. And the little shoots of light exploded and looked like whooping flowers.
My palms still tingled and the energy that I was watching move through the winded trees was so fast and electrifying that I felt giddy. I turned to see the Black Tree on his hill and watch his energy. There was no real darkness there that day. It was just something from long past. The trees that were decades old had seen some things that I may never comprehend, or things I may still come to know. Yet they still flowed with the energy of life, as though that is the purpose they were given.
My own darkness loomed very strongly in my strands at that moment and my own light waltzed and weaved its way in and around my limbs as I glided down the pathway into the open sunlight again. I was aware that the energy was bouncing about me, the wind was carrying it at a pace I never knew it could. And I stood, and felt my blackness and my darkness overwhelm me as I thought about the tiny flower that was lent not given and the magic and mystery in the lessons we learn from the black and white that lives within us. It is the only way to the truth, our own lightness in darkness.
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