I opened the door, stepped into the
Otherworld, and looked at my feet. They were covered in bark, my legs and arms
in soft green moss. My dress was made of leaves of every color. The path beneath
me, a carpet of soft brown pine-needles, cushioned my every step in the
dim twilight. The forest was old-growth,
the trees ancient. All was silence and the whispers of stars.
I followed the wide gently sloping path through the woods, noticing
Trees of every species I know. They were
each familiar to me. The willow next to
the house I grew up in, the Maple in the yard of my best friend. The Pine on the hill behind the cottage at
the lake. The Paper Birch in the neighbor’s front yard. The Apple in the Orchard, the Cherry in the cemetery
where the soldier and the baby are buried.
The Sycamore next to the stream. The Oak in the park where I lived the past 20 years.
I followed the path through the woods until I came to a
clearing. At the center stood a Tree so
large the branches were too high for me to see.
I stood upon the roots, close enough to place my hand upon the trunk, and
I offered energy through my hands, and then I could feel my ancestors sending energy
up through my feet to flow through my hands to the tree.
I could feel the strength of the Tree, holding up the
universe, lending support and structure to the flow of Life itself. Providing a channel for the energy to flow to and from the Underworld, the Upperworld,
and all the Otherworlds.
I gave thanks to the Tree and returned the way I had come.
