“My tiny daughter stands by an Elm
The one that gave me vision.
A real Saul to Paul conversion.
Not upon a Damascus road,
Still a holy site.
My parents backyard, and a tree
I’ve known for all my life.
Warm for January,
But cold enough for urgency.
The pain of staying the same makes for urgent awakening.
Another story about a tree,
A confirmation of inner ugliness.
Every mirror, save one, confirmed this.
But this tree, she didn’t believe in anything.
Only now that I was willing
She herself whispering, “Take a look”.
Turn inward, turn around.
Like walking off a cliff, into unknown
And uncertain how.
Then, suddenly courageous, and I swear –
It was something the tree
could offer me.
Indeed now, turning around,
no longer blind
From the furthest branch
of my self
back, back into the deep.
And what did I see?
Goddess, if that makes more sense.
Not alone, but underneath
A barren Elm, in the dead of winter
She taught me.”
— WRL, 1.1.18