TREE OF LIFE

Recently, we drew tarot cards in my writing group for inspiration; I loved the card that I chose, or rather, the one that chose me.  I have had the sense that this new year, 2012, holds such promise for me in ways that I’ve yet to realize.

The card that met my fingers as they crept under the deck read “New Moon,” followed by “Promise”. I tell ya, I’m feeling it! There was a beautiful painting of a couple, arms around each other, sitting on blanket of what I could only assume to be the most luscious, greenest of grass, gazing out at a lake of still waters silhouetted by a blazing sun setting into a sky cloaked in topaz. As if that weren’t enough, I flip the card over and Oh! Here is my symbol of 2012--a magnificent, lush tree standing tall; strong but not overpowering.  Its roots run deep and its branches reach to the sun and glitter with jewels. It is peaceful and vibrant. It is steadfast and assured. This tree is me. And if it’s not me just yet, it’s who I’m becoming. I stand tall, yet don’t overpower (oh hush, naysayers!). My roots run deep and I reach toward the sun, over and over again. I am peaceful and vibrant, steadfast and assured, although often haltingly. This painting is breathtaking and makes me happy; looking at it tugs at my tender heart. My heart feels especially tender these days. Finally, I feel a willingness to let it be tender, to ask what it needs instead of trying to shut it down. I’m having a heart connection with myself instead of always looking elsewhere for that sense of connectedness. It feels like there are jagged splinters, buried deep in my heart, that are coming to the surface on their own; that are working themselves up and out. When I get a splinter in my finger, my tendency is to pick at it, to run and get a needle and dig it out, blood or no blood, and always more pain. The few times that I have just left well enough alone, the splinter always works itself out without a lot of to-do. My heart is letting me know that it’s ready; that I’m ready, for true healing to begin.
Last night while I was watching “Good Luck, Charlie” with my daughter (yeah, I know, the things we do...) I got all teary-eyed when P.J. realized he was really just a pastel-lovin’ guy who got excited about hanging out with his mother’s book club friends and not the goth kid he was trying to be to impress a girl he liked. “Jeez, Mom,” said my daughter. “I know...,” I said. I used to say the same thing to my mother as tears streamed down her face during Hallmark commercials.  I think tender hearts run in our family, but we have a hard time allowing that to be present in ourselves. My family used to call me “sensitive” like it was a bad thing; a slur. For a long time I used that against myself, but not anymore. It’s who I am, for better or worse. I looked again at the picture of this magnificent tree on the card and realized that it, too, was born out of all the splinters that grew up and out of its beautiful, tender heart.