SOURCERY    <return to contents

Redwood Dance
Redwood grove, you exude calmness, introspection, a chance to slow down and see how to grow steadily. You're untouched by outside circumstances or conditions, pointed toward the sun, one ring at a time, one slice of “tree-story” at a time. Each season, your elders topple over and give themselves to the young. Giving yourself up means slowly decaying over a period of time equal to the amount of time you've been alive - 500, 1,000, 2,000 years - and bringing forth new life. What a gift. Dozens of saplings emerge from your granny nurse logs, all suckling rich root, noble old grandparent humus that carries the map of your awesome majesty.

You propagate in constant ceremony, everything slow and sure, everything rhythmic with the sun and the magnetic field of inner earth … everything a dance. Imagine your dear departed friend, the Esselen, dancing the redwood dance, hugging your bark that feels like grandmother's arms. Slow dance steps around the trunk, body uncoiling ever so slowly. Arms rise to meet the sun, growing taller and mightier than ever. Slowly. Eyes and fingers scrape the top of the forest, then spread out to embrace and host the winged ones. Feet stop patting ground, music slows to the lowest inner drone … you topple, slowly, to the ground. Last step: lying down, face in the ground, melting into Earth. A young child dancer rises from your departed feet.

In honor of the Esselen of Big Sur (extinct)