Wisdom from an aspen tree

Nature has always been my medicine. Getting outside alters every part of my being in ways I still do not fully comprehend. I am usually really good at getting the right dose of medicine to keep me sane but lately I haven’t been getting as much as I’ve needed.

I have been getting outside daily for short doses but after basically being on an IV drip of nature all summer, it hasn’t been taking the edge off as much as I would have liked. 48 hours, that is what I needed, a high dose of forest magic. Thankfully, that is exactly what I got last week.

I walked into the forest on metaphorically wobbly legs and walked out feeling incredibly centered. I wish I could bottle up what I receive from nature and pass it around to others but I know it wouldn’t be the same. If you know, you know. If you don’t, I’m truly sorry. Nature heals us in ways science is still baffled by, but I am a convert.

As I was sitting on the forest floor last week, watching the leaves dance in the wind above me, I recalled a tidbit a friend had shared with me recently. If you know me, or anyone else who has spent time in Colorado, then you know that aspen trees hold a certain kind of magic. I could go on and on about how beautiful these trees are and how they can teach us so much about life, and maybe someday I will, but today is not that day. A few weeks ago, a friend told me something new about aspen trees that made me love them even more.

On the trunks of most aspen trees there are these black marks that are often shaped like eyes. They are eerily beautiful when you walk through an entire grove of trees and it feels as if you are being watched. I always loved these markings but never knew what formed them. My friend told me that each eye on the tree is a place where a branch used to be. As the tree grows taller, growing newer branches closer to the sun, the higher leaves begin to block the lower leaves access to the light. The tree inherently understands that the lower branches are no longer serving the purpose they originally did.

Because the leaves of the aspen tree can produce the most energy for the tree when exposed to the light of the sun, the tree lets these lower branches fall off the tree. Through a process that feels so wise, the tree’s know that the purpose of those branches has been completed. To continue to nourish and hold onto these branches and leaves would limit the trees ability to grow upward. If it continues to spend the energy on these leaves that now have limited access to the sun, it would slow the trees ability to expand. Even when these branches die away and fall off, they leave a beautiful reminder of what once existed.

I couldn't fully comprehend the intelligence of this system when my friend told me this information. It took me sitting on the forest floor, seeing the layers of leaves above me, and noticing that many of the trees operate in this same fashion. I had to sit in the shade of the canopy above me, feeling the cool earth below me, to absorb this wisdom.

Similar to trees, humans also grow and expand with time. We are constantly stretching ourselves towards what nourishes us just like the leaves reach towards the sun. For me, this stretching towards the sun equates to the spiritual path I am on. I am expanding towards the truest version of myself. Just like the leaves will never reach the sun, I will likely not unfold fully into my most authentic self in this lifetime, yet we all still reach towards the same direction.

Sometimes I get so caught up in the stretching and growing upwards part of my life, I forget that there is also work to do below the level of the canopy. We often place a higher value on the parts of us that are expanding and nourishing ourselves and forget that sometimes the kindest thing we can do is let go of what no longer is serving us.

As we all wander down this path of life, we cultivate many versions of our selves. Each version of this self is a branch filled with leaves. For a certain time in our lives, that branch and those leaves provided sustenance. We managed to make it through harsh winters and scorching summer droughts because of those small but mighty branches. But as we grow upward, the purpose of those particular versions of our self may not be exactly what we need anymore. Keeping these past versions of the self fed and alive eventually becomes more taxing than helpful.

This idea that something that kept us alive for so long may eventually need to be let go is scary. Within the core of our being, the trunk and roots that keep us upright, we know that those first few spindly branches and collection of leaves protected us from so much. It is hard to let go of something that is such a visceral part of ourselves even if we know it’s purpose has been fully lived. I know that I have held onto and continue to nourish branches that are fully in the shade of my higher branches these days. I realized that I am limiting my own potential growth by not releasing these branches from my being.

Being back home in Ohio is a complicated experience. It has felt as if these lower branches that sustained me while I lived here wanted to take back control of the tree. But because of the work I have done to grow upward and expand, there was too much shade for those leaves to flourish. It took me coming home and feeling it all to finally be okay with culling a few branches from my trunk.

I know that letting these lower branches go does not lessen the impact they had on my life. I will always carry the marks of these versions of myself, just like the aspen tree forever has black eyes staring into the forest. For this I am endlessly grateful. I want to remember these branches and leaves. I want to honor the fact that they were the best version of myself for a time.

I also want to honor that I have grown. That I have found a way to expand upward and outward and become new many times over in this life. To hold onto all of these branches at once finally became too difficult for me. As the aspen tree knows, so do I. It is time to release and let go the versions of my self that no longer nourish every part of my being.

Nature is always going to be my medicine. She teaches me far more than I will ever be able to fully comprehend and for that I am wildly grateful. Walking out of the forest after 48 hours, after letting a few old branches fall away, I became lighter. I know this time will allow me to grow closer to the sun, the truest version of my self. I will always carry the marks of my past self as reminders of how far I’ve grown, and that is beyond beautiful.

So I will leave you with this. Next time life feels a bit too heavy, instead of looking up, take a peak down. See if perhaps you are holding on too tightly to things that are no longer serving you. Let your highest branches nourish you let go of the rest. You are not losing a part of yourself, rather you are gaining a beautiful reminder of how far you have come.