This truly is a lovely tree, though he is not alone. There are several others equally as stunning and a lot of sweet or quirky or appealing ones.
Again, as with the Minerva Oak, I was doing a practice suggested by Asia Suler. In this case there were two prompts: What does the Earth ask of me? What message would the Earth like to pass to all humans. The sense I received was that the message for other humans was exactly the same as the message for me.
Earth asks of me...
...that I return to her.
...that my thoughts be engaged with her being.
...that I witness, wonder and resonate.
...that I create with creation.
...that I pour the life she has gifted me into the life of her being.
...that I give and bless and turn toward.
...that I step softly as I step into the earth's dreaming.
...that I embrace the earth that I am.
...and that, in my dying, I give myself up to her, as one returns a generous loan, with gratitude, grace, and acceptance.
After writing this, I lay down with my head away from the trunk, and slightly downhill, and my feet resting against the tree, so I was in a kind of L-shape. This was very nice (and helps prevent varicose veins if done daily, as my friend Amanda and I discovered when we were about 14 and both our mothers had varicose veins).
I liked the sense of having my neurons below my limbs, as the tree does. There were no foxes or hares (though I had seen one of the latter at Cottesbrooke); no buzzard landing. Not even a muntjac. All I could hear was a bird's warning calls and the gulls over the water, an occasional crow and jay. The last time I was there, a raven flew over, cronking, and I wondered if he or she is alone.
It was still. Very warm. Hot, really, but not under the trees. Little breeze. I watched one gust pass over, a wave across the canopy. I let the earth dream through me.
Soothing xx