Today, I felt called to visit Grandmother Oak. She is a powerful & majestic tree that I have been communing with for a while now. I didn't really have the time to visit, she is 15 miles from home & my schedule has been tight lately. But, honoring her call, I walked down the path, anticipating our reunion. I've felt sad all day & thought maybe she was calling to cheer me.
She & I have bonded nicely over the past year (I can't believe it has been more than a year since we met! I didn't even realize that until I revisited the initial blog post.). She has given me many messages, including her name.
As I touched her extending branch, something felt different. The branch moved. It is a HUGE branch that NEVER moves when I touch it. "Odd," I thought, "maybe I'm pushing on her." I approached her mighty trunks, feeling & seeing the energy in her center.
I didn't notice the wound at first. She was throbbing with energy. First I saw the pentagram drawn in the mulch that makes up her womb. "Another witch has found her," I thought. I felt a strange, sinking sensation & looked up.
Immediately, I realized that a witch was not responsible for the drawing in the loose mulch. The numbers 666 were carved deeply into my friend's bark. Opposite this desecration was an inverted cross carved even deeper into another trunk. The wounds took my breath away.
Sacred, holy, ancient. These are the words I use to describe Grandmother Oak.
Now, she is wounded, scarred. These are not her first scars. A small hart was cut from her bark last year; initials are placed in her skin occasionally. But these wounds, these marks were of utter disrespect. Not the marks of lovers or possession, but the marks of anger & rebellion.
My heart broke. I tried to send healing to my friend, but felt only empty, tight, constricted. It is not really Grandmother Oak that has been wounded, it is me. She will heal as she has before. She bears many scars, both human-inflicted & natural. She is strong & resilient. She knows that time will bring a softening to those who wounded her & will bring protective callouses to her skin. She is wise & patient.
I feel violated. A space that I thought of as "mine" has been invaded. A sacred spot feels vulnerable.
There are lessons here. I can feel them growing in my chest, but cannot articulate them quite yet. Before the assimilation of the lesson, I will grieve.
Tomorrow, I will visit again, though there is little time in my day. I will leave offerings for the Fae to request a speedy healing of her bark before fungus sets in. I will meditate & find the energy to send to her.
Tonight, I cannot even cry. It is just so disheartening.