The Green Cathedral

Emily ran. In the running there was nothing else. She was nothing other than her escape. The energy of it took her away and away. All there was, was the moment. Her lungs rasped a cyclical protest. A quiet scream with every exhalation. Her legs and arms clumsy, labouring pistons. But something held her in a constant state of movement. She leant into a pursuit of an uncertain future. Threatening to overbalance and end everything in her fall. There was a trick of momentum here though. As long as she kept going, invisible puppet strings held her aloft, keeping her from that disastrous fall.

The fall had already occurred. That was clear in the desperation of her. The roaring in her ears was the soundtrack of crushing failure. The pain in her muscles a welcome distraction from the wrongs of a life that had become her iron maiden. The fact of her escape, both a miracle and a poison chalice. The consequence of her choice hung over her and could not be shaken. The weight of it seeking to press her into the ground and grind the very life out of her. And yet she kept going. This movement was all there was. She was on a train between platforms. Couldn’t recall her destination. Wished she could forget the station she’d left. The punched return ticket she carried upon her person burned her with a shame that would never consume, only burrow deeper and deeper with the poison of pain.

Her breathing was ragged now. Her blurred vision dizzying. Every now and then a muscle would slip. Forgetting its place. A leg bowing. An arm flailing. And yet on she ran. Something about the ground beneath her feet was softer now. The change had occurred some way back. Five steps or five thousand ago. The passage of time no longer mattered. There could never be enough distance and space between what once was and what could be. The future had been denied her so completely. And she carried the funereal shroud of a dark past wherever she went. The darkness of it kept her anchored in the certainty of uncertainty. Trapped between the two warring states of past and future. A no-man’s land of a person drowning in shame and anxiety.

When she hit the tree she was too numb with a life of shock and regret to register what had happened to her. From the tree there was no reaction. Only a patient understanding. This sort of thing happened, it knew. There was no point in reacting to such a thing. What good would it do? They regarded each other in a mutual silence that calmed her beyond her imaginings. The sun gazed down upon them both with a casual interest. It did not judge. Instead it bathed them both in a light that was intent on giving. Life flourished in the sight of that sun. There was truth here, dispelling the darkness of falsehoods. The tree subdued the eagerness of the sun and dappled the light all around Emily. She saw that the world was all the better for the calm and constant presence of the tree. There was certainty in the way it held out its arms to protect the world around it. Another act of giving that spoke to her as she lay on the soft forest floor. Gravity pulling enviously at those branches. A persuasive force questioning the merit of the tree’s being. A temptation to drop those branches and give up the good it was doing. A seduction that would lead to dread isolation were it succumbed to.

Emily could have arisen from her impromptu bed. In other circumstances she would have been compelled to do so. The ground would be deemed filthy and she too unclean for her part in the world she had so recently fled. Always there were judgements. A sandpaper of words that wore her worth away until all there was were the dry tears of what she had once been.

Her breath came through her ears. A sacrilegious roar in this cathedral of peace. Turning her head softly this way and that, Emily took in the choir of trees. They were unperturbed by the storm of her arrival. They’d seen it all before and so much more. The knowledge of this seeped into her. Instinctively, she dug her hands into the soft earth at her sides, a thousand of the tree’s fallen children caressed her skin with unbridled kindness. Death was not an end, only a transformation that should be welcomed and not fought.

Digging her fingers deeper into the fertile soil, she imagined herself pushing her roots into the earth. Choosing her place and making it her own. Her exploration of belonging was to give herself over. To capitulate. A sacred act of acceptance. That was what was meant to truly be in the moment.

She sighed and felt herself go deeper. She was lost. Had no idea where she was or quite how she had got here. And yet here was where she was meant to be. That certainty rose up from within her now. She had brought that with her. Carried it always. A sense of who she was. Her sense of worth. Her uniqueness in a world that needed her as much as she needed it.

Looking upon the grizzled skin of the tree, she saw a reflection of her own worth. Despite the rough and gnarled bark that the tree wore as protection from a world that had a tendency towards the cruel, there was warmth here. An ancient knowledge that hung in the air between them. She felt it then. The tree exhaling itself into her. She relaxed and reciprocated. A simple meditative act that cleansed her of the filth slung at her by broken people acting out petty vengeance upon uncaring ghosts of an unreal past.

The tree gave, and yet it was filled with strength with every gift it presented to this place. It wore the scars of loss as proudly as the canopy of leaves that hung majestically above them. There was no hint of shame here. No harbouring of slights. Even the trees that were twisted by the world around them remained true to themselves. Here was a lesson in how to be.

And so Emily learnt the lessons provided to her in the depths of a woods that she had not known existed. She discovered herself within the loss and absence she had experienced in the rolling barrel of pain that had become her existence. Knew that in order for her to come forth from the fertile soils of her inner self, there must be sacrifice. That she must shed her withered leaves and make room for what was to come. Lay herself bare in order to grow. Have faith in the nature of all things.

Emily died that day. She let go in her entirety, and in letting go transformed herself through a tunnel of grief so intense that she could see no light ahead. There was only faith, and the roots of a love that spread out from her and connected to everything she would ever need. She went deep into the darkness. Curled up tightly in a foetal position. Then she did the only thing that made sense. She remade the choice that was made for her at birth and committed to it with every fibre of her being, as was meant. And in the rediscovery of herself and her purpose, she grew.

She opened up and she grew. Unfurling and reaching out. Safe in the ancient knowledge provided to her in that holy place. The place that had called out to her for an age. Her place and her moment. The fertile soil she needed in order to become. Overcoming the lies and the traps of denial. Giving herself over to the gentle energy of a truth that patiently lifted and fed her. Guiding her towards the light. There was no pushing. That was not the way to live. She opened herself to her true nature and allowed herself to be. Trusting more and more her part in the world around her. Embracing her vulnerability and encasing it in the bark of her authenticity and love.

And there were scars here. And there were wounds that would never heal. Openings to the truth of the world. She heard all the more through her imperfections. Her senses amplified so she could live freely. Give more of herself in this act of living. And in giving, she nourished the place she had found in this world. Shone all the more brightly, conveying a knowledge that existed from the very beginning and would be there until the sweetest of ends that could never be an end, only a return. Always a return.