The woods across the street

Across the street from us are almost 120 acres of woods, owned by the state of Minnesota. Before we moved here, I pictured spending hours in those woods every week, but of course it has not worked out that way. Our lives absorb us, and we don't cross the road very often to walk among the trees.

I am often aware of the woods though. When I'm in my house, I sometimes feel the woods as an insistent pressure around my chest, lips, and temples. It is a subtle feeling -- one that I don't even notice when I am busy. Usually I experience it once every couple of days, and then I draw my attention back to the work at hand. Sometimes I let my attention stay with that feeling, and when I do, I can "hear" the "voice" of the woods. I don't hear it with my ears because it is not really a sound. Still, it reminds me of the sound of many voices singing together, some of them like tubas, and some like trill of a cricket, knit together with mellow tones to form a whole, unique voice. When I hear it, I want to open my mouth wide and sing.

Individual trees make "sounds,” too. I sometimes hear them when I am not paying attention, but usually I only hear them after I sit with them for a while and my spirit has been soothed and pulled into harmony with their beautiful humming. The sound of an individual tree is very different from the sound of the woods, though. Together, the trees take on a different character and become something more. From what I've read, this makes ecological sense. They are bound together underground with strings of microbes that extend beyond their root system until there is no way of knowing where the roots end and the microbes begin. Bound together this way, they feed each other underground.

Just as an individual tree pulls my spirit into harmony with its humming, these woods are pulling me into new assumptions about the world. Every day that I listen to the woods, my spirit is pressed with awareness that groups of living things can have a single, powerful voice and that people are not so different from trees in this way.

I'm surprised by the way this shows up in my life. Last weekend, someone was talking to me about the way her body is shaped. The first thing that jumped into my head was that her body shape, with its unique strengths and weaknesses, must be a gift to the community. Maybe it would keep her strong during times when food is scarce. Maybe it has other gifts that have not been discovered yet because the circumstances have not arisen that would bring them to the surface. Maybe some of its weaknesses are covered by strengths found in others.

Because I have been learning from the woods, I also feel a bit less self-conscious about speaking during the silence of Quaker worship. Although I didn't realize it, I have been acting as though the gift of vocal ministry were mine. I have sometimes felt awkward about sharing what was given to me because it felt somehow prideful to draw so much attention to myself. Now, my gut tells me that the gifts entrusted to an individual are gifts that have been given to the group, and I feel easier sharing.

I can see the woods through my window now, a dark gray shape against the light gray sky. I am listening, and I can hear its broad voice rise up to the sky. I am opening my heart so that it can pull my spirit into its rhythm, and slowly teach me more.