The Will to Live

September 2013

           I came up over the ridge, stopped to admire the ever-inspiring Big Trees, and then slowly entered yet another stunning ancient Sequoia filled valley. On some levels, it very much reminded me of my first saunter through Giant Forest last Summer. Just breathtaking. Other-worldly. Per usual, a calm peace entered me as I slowly wandered about the home of these divine abuelitos, this time in Atwell Grove, near the southern boundary of Sequoia National Park. Descending into the valley, I looked up and sort of gasped as I stopped in front of an enormous tree. Literally half of it was burnt to a crisp, from the bottom almost to the top. At least 200 feet of charred wood. From this angle, thoroughly blackened and appearing long dead, one would think that this old grandpa’s fine life had ended some time ago. Not so. The other half was still covered with brilliant red bark, slowly healing around the ancient scar; still full of strong, healthy limbs, ever growing; still gracefully stretching upwards towards the heavens.

            I’ve written and spoken numerous times regarding my awe at how you can’t really kill Giant Sequoias. They just keep growing, no matter fire, lightning, millennia. Only the cursed logging boom of the 19^th and 20^th centuries could destroy so many of them. There’s a famous old tree that was literally cut halfway through by those lost old lumbermen a hundred years ago. Yet, after stopping for some odd reason at that point in their grizzly task, they left it be. It continues to grow today (you can see it near the ‘Big Stump’ entrance at the northern end of the parks). Pondering things as I do when in the midst of these ancient forests, and thinking about our own stories to be told during this wonderful but sometimes heartbreaking journey called life, I couldn’t help but see the critical symbolism, once again, in this wounded old tree. The wisdom and the lessons, once again, of grandpa Sequoia – right there for the more observant visitor to comprehend and take to heart. If we but choose to listen.

            In this mad modern world, many of us have faced these raging ‘fires’ that seem to burn up half of our souls. Many of us have wondered how we could possibly carry on after the flames had finally subsided and we saw the glaring wounds that we must carry. Many of us have struggled mightily to continue any sort of healthy journey with such a large part of ourselves ‘burnt’, as it were. But there he is, Sequoiadendron giganteum, in his slow, deliberate, silent manner, demonstrating to us the depth of courage. The will to live. Perhaps we might learn from this strength and this spirit of grandpa Sequoia. No matter the scars, we can continue to grow. No matter the pain of losing so much, we can continue stretching upwards towards the heavens. No matter these ‘fires’ surrounding us on so many levels both personal and global, is our will to survive and live through them - still standing tall, still beautiful, still blessed - as courageous as that demonstrated to us over and over and over again through the ages by wise old abuelito?

            For over three thousand years, these majestic beings survive any and every wound… and they continue to grow. And the beauty and peace and calm present where they live is simply stunning in its vastness. It seeps into your very essence when you are with them. How do they do this? Like so many manifestations of the great spirit of Mother Earth, if and when you touch them, sit among them, saunter about them… humbly listen to them, they just might tell you.