I watched the Tree
day after day,
growing from its little seed-
A cataclysm set it free
in silence
from its prison in the seed-

Its tender shoot
wavered up
through the rough dry soil-
Ready to move through
unknown space,
undertake unknown toil-

The sun was bright
unfamiliar
its heat and glare were new-
The night was known
familiar
as the womb from which it grew-

The parched spell
lasting long
taught the Tree resilience-
The solitude around
lay waiting
sharing its silence-

And when the monsoon came
wet, cold, welcome,
Slaking months of thirst-
There was a pond around
the Tree
which hadn’t been there first-

When the puddles dried
in warmth
after the rain had passed-
There were sprouts
around it,
perhaps this was called grass-

So quietly the years
of growth
of finding Self went on-
Till one morning
a wayfarer
in its deep shade sat down-

A gentle sigh went
through the leaves:
My Purpose was ordained-
Now I know what lay
in my sap,
what seed contained-

I simply grew, instinct-led,
no thought
of outcome or recompense-
I felt the sky, the soil
the rain,
the solitude, silence-

Absorbing into me the whole
in fragments
when each came my way-
Observing, accepting,
not judging
the prospect of each day-

I am an Old One now
and watch
the little ones around-
Fighting the elements,
seeking reasons,
freedom from this ground-

And wonder if I was right
or are they:
or is there a right or wrong-
Was it always like this,
or am I
still groping my way along?