Friday, May 31, 2019
Twin Oaks
I am sitting by the South Toe
River with my friend Robin Dreyer, both in beach chairs. Before us
are two gigantic trees. They are so tall that you can't see the
tops. I can't see any leaves, but their bark is oak. These trees are
superimposed upon the river backdrop. I notice that the one on the
right, which is much larger, has a huge fissure about two-thirds up,
looking like a monumental lightning strike. At its base, a black
slurry oozes out, running towards the Toe.
A
young Germanic engineer conducts a tour of the
bigger tree. I
watch as he shows the two
bottom floors of an
immense, towering inner space, freshly painted in pastel yellow. The
ceiling, several hundred feet above us, is a windowed cupola in the
style of Stanford University. The
young man opens a door from the spacious lobby to a hospital check-in
area. On the two floors, about 10-12 rooms have been finished, all
inhabited by retired nuns,
some ancient. He
explains that the authorities had planned to outfit the entire
interior with all the accoutrements of a little planned city, but
they ran out of money and resources. This was what was left.
Leaving
the tour, heading back into the bright sunshine, I look
closely again
at the second tree,
noticing
that a spring flows from its base as well. It is clear and sparkles
in the
sunlight as it runs towards our river.
I
won't go into a detailed interpretation. Much of it is
self-explanatory. I do want to note two things. One is why Robin
Dreyer is in the dream; the key is his name. Noting the black slurry
coming from the poisoned Tree of Life, I associate immediately John
McCutcheon's rendering of Jean Ritchie's "BlackWaters,"
a lament for Appalachian coal country. And
then the thought comes, we
are robbin' the Earth dry, drier than it's ever been.
The
second is that there are two trees. We are killing the first one; it
is beyond hope (both
secular industry and Constantine's Church which has buttressed it).
But the second one, representing for me the continued evolution on
Earth over the one to two billion years remaining until the sun's red
giant status extinguishes terrestrial life, is healthy, the spring
waters at its base pristine.
Mourn
the passing of the first
oak. Weep loudly. But
take joy in what is to come
from the second Tree of Life,
whether our human eyes observe it or not. Mammalian emotions are
widespread in the age of mammals which is crumbling around us.
But besides an overcharged frontal cortex attached to both those
emotions and a reptilian brain at its
stem, we have imagination.
Let's use and celebrate it 'til the end,
watching the sunlight dance on those pure springwaters.
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