The Tree Hugger

 

 

 

 

1.

In the small town where I live, there is a man who hugs trees. He is a normal looking, fit, late thirties, white male. He has a neatly trimmed beard, short brown hair and wears an ironed button down shirt neatly tucked into his blue jeans. It would be easy to mistake him for a professional person if he was not spending his days hugging trees.

I often see him out of the corner of my eyes hugging a tree as I pass by in my car or on a bike. I become puzzled. “What is he doing?” I wonder. He stands there with his legs spread and his arms wrapped wide around the neck of a tree with the side of his face resting against the bark. Sometimes his eyes are closed and sometimes they are opened- but there is always a crescent moon smile upon his face. He often reminds me of a child resting his head against his mother’s breast.

While on one of my morning walks a week ago, I passed the tree hugger. He did not notice me and I was not so sure I wanted to be noticed by him. He was nicely dressed and serenely, he held the tree in the open embrace of his arms. It almost looked as if he was rocking the tree back and forth, as if he was trying to help it fall asleep.

As I walked past him, curiosity overcame me like a tight net pulling me backwards. Before I understood what was happening- I found myself walking up to the tree hugger and asking him, “why are you always hugging trees?” with a tone that may have sounded slightly derisive. He turned his face to observe me and without dropping the smile he said, “After what human beings have done to this earth, the trees are scared. They think that they could be next. So I give them a hug and let them know that everything will be okay.” I thanked the man for providing me with such an informative answer and walked away.

 

2.

Later that afternoon I could not help but think about trees. I thought about all the trees that I have witnessed being cut down over the past few months. Two beautiful oak trees were cut down in my back yard and a tree was cut down in my front yard. Some trees were chopped down across the street from where I live and in the downtown area a whole row of trees has been eliminated. It seemed to me like trees had good reason to be afraid.

I watched the trees in my backyard, which seemed to shake. I found myself offering them consolation- without saying anything out loud. I would pet them with my hand or pat them on the back. On one of my morning walks I seemed to be overcome with a feeling I had never felt before- the strange urge to a hug a tree. But I resisted and kept repeating to myself, “No not me. No not me. I am not that man. I am sane and do not hug trees.”

A few nights ago I had a bad dream. I dreamt that I, a harmless man, had a huge chain saw in my hand. For whatever reason, my dream consisted of me in a psychotic state, cutting down dozens of trees with yellow sap all over my body and face. Every tree I saw I cut down and I laughed and laughed as they fell. Nothing but piles of fallen, bloody trees in my path- until I awoke covered in sweat.

3.

I hug trees when no one is around (but in our overpopulated world it is almost impossible to avoid being seen). I make sure I dress nicely so as to look professional, so as not to be confused with someone who may be insane. I tuck my shirt into my jeans and comb my hair. If someone comes up to me I know exactly what I will say. I will tell them that humans are destroying the earth and the trees are scared. When I hug a tree I try not to do it for too long, but I do it long enough to let the tree know that I care. I feel the warmth of its inner life against my face and when I lean my chest into the tree I can feel it’s rapidly beating heart. I hold the tree tightly in my arms, smile and whisper in its ear, “It’s okay. Shhhh. I’m here, don’t worry, I’m here.”

Free Bird?

I decided to open the bird-cage and let my two yellow parakeets fly freely around the room. After spending so much time confined in their cage I thought this would be a delectable treat. I did not want to help them out- but rather gave them the autonomy to come out by their own volition. As the long time, faithful and concerned owner of these two birds- I felt as if I fulfilled my duty by opening the cage door. The rest was up to them.

After opening the door to the bird-cage, I sat back down in my comfortable chair and continued to climb the steep hill of the book I was reading. I had just read the lines, “When I see I am nothing that is wisdom. When I see I am everything that is love. My life is a movement between these two-” when one of my birds began making a clanging sound in the cage. He was yanking the lever used to open and lock the cage, in an up and down motion with his beak (he normally did this when the cage door was locked in what I assumed was an attempt to open the door and fly free). I yelled out,”the cage is already open Dali (the bird’s name) and there is no need for such obnoxious behavior. Can’t you see that you can fly free!!”

I continued to read and occasionally looked up from my book to see if the birds were making their way out of the cage. They were not. Instead, they sat on one of the synthetic branches and in a dumbfounded state they stared out into the big wide open space as if they were looking into a black hole. “There is nothing to be afraid of!!” I yelled out a little frustrated at their resistance. Neither of my birds quite new what to do with this option to fly free- so they sat there, made some chirping sounds, poked at one another and refused to spread their wings.

I could see that the birds were curious about flying free but overwhelmed by the fact that they were going to have to do it on their own. No human finger to shuttle them out of the door. After a few hours of giving them the potential to be free- frustrated, I got up from my chair and shut the bird-cage door. I must admit that I said “stupid birds,” as I locked the cage. It was then that I wondered how often I had refused to fly out of my cage when the door was left wide open? The thought pestered me. “How many times had I been presented with an opportunity to love, to dance, to travel, to sing, to work, to let go, to grow- but was too afraid to flap my wings and fly?” I said out loud. How often am I more comfortable sitting in a chair with a book than I am stepping out my front door and trying to grab a hold of the sun?

Determined to finish the book I was reading by the end of the night I sat back down and buried my thoughts beneath someone else’s words. I had the house all to myself- minus the two birds and a whining black cat. My interest in breaking for dinner was minimal, so I ignored the biological alarm clock that was sounding off in the depths of my stomach. As I climbed my way towards the book’s ending- I kept glancing out the corner of my eyes at the birds who seemed happy in their cage. They were cleaning one another, eating and playing what looked like a game of bird tag. “Two dumb birds as happy as can be, locked away in their safe cage,” I thought to myself and then I continued to climb.

The Hangover

I am suffering from a bad hangover. A very bad hangover. Not even a shower seemed to help. It feels as if I have been stuffed with bags of sand and implanted with a metallic heart. My chest hurts. I am having difficulty breathing because of a pain in my back. Walking a straight line takes effort and my gut feels like it contains the remnants of a battlefield. All last night I wrestled with sleep trying to pin it down. Instead, I kept awakening with irregular heartbeats, pulsating ears and a parched mouth. I was nauseous and had images in my head of funerals and jumping over a cliff. A pin or nail seemed to be sticking out the side of my left temple- causing me an unbearable ache . My wife, snoring away by my side, was at peace in the womb of a deep inebriated sleep. I on the other hand was struggling….paying for my night of fun.

Even though I did not drink that much last night (three margaritas and two beers) I should understand by now that if I have more than one drink- all the ills of human kind are going to shower down upon me. One would think that after years of drinking and then spending nights and days in a kind of physical hell (that over the years has decreased the strength of my body and mind)- that I would sensibly abstain from having more than one glass of booze at a time. I have tried to invoke the powers of a healthy life style. I went on long meditation retreats and once did not speak for six weeks. I entertained a yoga practice everyday and ate raw food only- but still I needed a drink. This is no ordinary relationship.

I love drinking…and booze has been in my life for as long as I can remember. When I drink I am no longer stuck in human bondage. I am set free on a terrain that looks and feels like joy. My spirit is elevated beyond the constricting weight of my body and the unbearable lightness of my being puts a smile on my face. Even though I meditate for an hour a day nothing can come close to the power of now, the absence of mind that I feel after having a glass of wine or a beer. I never get so drunk as to lose control but I drink just enough to grow a pair of wings and fly away.

Since the day I was born I have grappled with a fear and trembling that has become more chronic as I age. This anxiety risks keeping me trapped in the safety zone of my home. Heavy thoughts that swim around in my head without traffic control are the substance of my disease. I work hard to disempower my thoughts and keep them from spilling over into the life I live- but at times it feels like a daunting task. Consuming alcohol is not only medicine for my spirit but it quiets down the negative temper of my feelings of impeding doom. For a brief period, while intoxicated I can be liberated from the insurrection that my thoughts wage against my heart, daily. The price I pay for indulging in booze is nothing compared with those few hours I spend in my bliss….or so I thought.

All morning I have been filling up on supplements. In the middle of the night I drank chlorophyl and ate sprouts for nutrients that I hoped would quiet my heart. I have read about how alcohol consumption depletes the body of vital minerals and vitamins causing sleep disturbances, irregular heart beats and a slew of other frightening symptoms. I was supposed to show up for my third “Meet The Author” day but instead I have chosen to stay in. When I am done writing this entry I will return to bed where I hope to find a few hours of sleep beneath my sheets. I can not help but to pity myself a bit and wish that this was not the fate that was upon me. I wish I could drink alcohol like so many others I know who consume it every day and have deep, beautiful sleep filled with dreams and a regular heartbeat. For years I was one of these lucky few consuming alcohol, coffee, cigarettes with no tormenting health effects. Then one day everything changed. Now that I have reached a certain age the only one of those vices that I have left is my booze- but I am afraid that soon this will have to go as well……and I will be left having to deal with myself.

Last night my wife and I bought an expensive bottle of tequila to keep around the house. For guests and fun. My plan was to put some of it in a flask and keep it upon my body at all times. I would douse the anxiety or negative thoughts whenever they arose like a man putting out a fire in his own head. I also planned on drinking the tequilla liberally in small amounts every day of the week….a night cap if you will. But now I am having to come to terms with one of the most difficult truths a man can face.

My body seems to no longer be as strong as my desire. My head is still foggy and my fingers hurt. I could swear I saw blood in my stools as I spent hours sitting on the toilet last night. The taste of alcohol is still in my throat. It all seems too extreme of a price to pay for a few hours of happiness. I want to say that I am going to hop on the wagon and never drink again. That I am done with that stage of my life. I want to say that I have learned my lesson and might be getting a bit too close to the edge. But I know that this is not true. I want to be able to drink, enjoy myself and then sleep like a baby… and I am determined to find a way. Even though I am going to get on the wagon and stay on board for a few days- I know that as soon as this hangover is gone and I have had a few day of rest- I will ask the driver to let me off so that I can enjoy a bottle of wine with my wife at dinner. For now I am going back to bed.