Older

(By Dave, 5 min)

There stands a tree, huge and ancient. Limbs spreading in every direction and tall, so very tall. So enticing is the call to ascend it, none can resist.

They climb, struggling to get a foothold on the enormous trunk. The bark is glorious with deep, life-filled crevices and enticing corrugated rises. But attention there lingers not.

A limb is calling. A limb full of leaves that chaotically wave in the wind. Hypnotic those leaves, but few stay for long for many more limbs with their own beauty lie above. Majestic branches teeming with butterflies, birds and life not found on limbs below. The tree seems endless, and climbers quicken their pace hungry to see every part of it.

Then one day, imperceptibly it seems, most of the limbs are below. The desire to ascend lessons and climbing becomes hard. Yearning to see what’s higher yields to reflection. Climbers rest and most shift their gaze downward.

Perched on their high limbs they see every branch on which their feet pushed. The ones that held and the ones that snapped sending them reeling until another climber or the tree itself stopped their fall. For these high dwellers, thoughts of climbing higher compete with recollections of every leaf, bird and butterfly they saw before. Musings of every climber they got to know along the way. The ones they liked and the ones they didn’t.

Oh, to be back on the climb again strong and able. To be grabbing that special limb for the first time where so much joy was found. For some, the longing is too strong, and they descend to a favored limb hoping to extract the old joy anew. But first-time joy is a one-time experience, and the effort disappoints.  

For others, they pause on their high limb. But like the descenders, their desire to climb is forgotten. Dwelling in memories alone, they are joined by others swapping tales of enticing limbs from the past.

Many high dwellers never stop climbing to think of the tree at all. The climb is all that matters. They climb and climb in pursuit of whatever joy the tree can give until the wood comes to an end and can give no more.

But there are some with more limbs under than over who pause in their journey upward to consider from where does the urge to climb come? An insight occurs. The tree was not put there to make for a pleasurable climb. It was put there to change the climber.

These pondering souls shout down to those far beneath them. Be wise, they say. Pay attention to what the tree is teaching you. Don’t step on that limb. Their cries land on un-hearing ears for only those who have near completed the climb know the wisdom the tree imparts. The gift of the tree requires the climb.

It hurts to sit at the top with only some branches to go. The ascent has its cost. Joints protest. Eyes grow dim and ears deaf. Encountered heartaches trouble the mind. Yet the insight insists the climb continue, for the tree is not done teaching until the top is reached.

The truly wise have asked and answered the most important question. Who put this tree here? When the answer comes, hands divide. One reaches down for other climbers and one up to complete the journey. To their surprise, the weight from below eases the pain in their joints. It clears vision and hearing despite failing eyes and ears. It restores the desire to climb, a desire now rich in love and driven by mercy.

There stands a tree, huge and ancient. The gray heads know it well.