When something ends, something begins
A story that started with a voice recording starring the Birch Tree, slowly developing over time. I hope you will find a cozy spot for this long sharing, taking your time.
Transcript
So, I've got this tree in a garden with a tiny house that's marvelous and big and beautiful. But somehow the neighbours seem to dislike it for the shadows it casts. While a funny thing is that these exact neighbours then also use the shadows when it's summer and the sun is too bright.
And recently we had a storm coming. Some neighbours told my stepdad whom helps taking care of the garden from time to time and helps me learning skills how to build and maintaining permaculture garden as it is. So we were told that another tree in the garden had fallen down. And this tree that fell down was actually the tree that was not following the rules of being in a certain distance away from the bushes.
But it was one of my most beloved trees as it was a birch tree. I've always falling deeply in love with birch trees. There is something with them. Their being. The fact that they are white and filled with marvelous eyes looking at you. And then they are... I'm not familiar with the English word... these things hanging down at the end of like instead of having a leaf they are having these long things looking a bit like Pippali pepper. And they are amazing if you smash them with honey, tea. You can blend them and can make a sort of caffeine free drink. Of course you have to roast them at first. A lot of benefits from them.
And also... birch bark being holy using them as paper and books. And fun thing actually the week before the tree fell down I got permission form another birch tree that had been falling down by force to cut away the birch that I've been pressing in an old book press from the 18th hundred. Anyhow so while I was gardening today I kept looking at the tree and finally after two days managed to approach the tree. I felt so sad on its behalf. And from a certain angle being lighten up by the sun it looked wet. Like it was crying. And of course it was bleeding with its own liquids. Hmmm.
And then I really tried to study it. Its shapes and figures, colours. It had a certain area with a some kind of hole in it. It looked a little bit like looking into another world. Like having a little cave for beetles. Or something. I could also see that some of the top parts of the tree were dead. So maybe it was for the better that it was broken in half. And I kind of want to tell her of that. I will do my very best to take care of it. And that maybe it was for the best that the dead part was cut off so that the fresh and living part could still be there.
And then I took my forehead against the bark. And the this melody came. Not not the whole melody though, only thirty seconds. And then later today after eating some food and finally getting into a state of mind where I felt like I could relax. I grabbed the guitar I have right here that I often tend to forget is there. And pressed record then this whole song draft came out. And actually today and yesterday I've been having so many dreams, and thoughts, and music especially just flowing through me.
Every time I'm in that corner I put my palm on the bark of the birch tree. And I don't know if it's a specific connection but I just like the fact that even though something ends some other things can start, and that it all started with me maintaining access to this piece of land. While also shedding away the things in my life that did not function, worked for me. Still am. And I kind of felt like a relief to say this to the tree today. The what you're letting go off is maybe for the better. Because if it's dead and not nourishing you why should you hold onto it if it will eventually over time make the rest of you sick. If you could just let it go now and heal and grow up in a new way. And so I also like to think of it.
Thank you for listening.
The Birch tree cracked halfway during a storm and so I wanted to make a ceremonial ritual for it: a blót as we call it in the North. With lights, food, liquor, hands on the stem, music, presence, sage harvested and made from the garden of the Birch tree and silence. It felt like the wind was listening, joining along. Everything seemed in sync. Intuitively, I made a 30sec melody, telling the Birch tree; “It's gonna be alright”. The top was rotten but the bottom still held life. Later the same evening I grabbed my guitar and pressed “record”.
The thing is, this story was not only meant to be about the Birch tree. Things about past, present and future.
During and after the Birch tree blót, I kept thinking about my grandmother, my parent’s rabbit, a former friend and how everyone around recently seems to either have lost a family member or are grieving as death will soon show up on the bedside, ending sickness in future drop of the physical body.
Shortly before the Birch tree cracked, I found myself in the garden surrounding the house my parents and Panda live in. It is in the same area of my childhood, an area filled with ancient “jættestuer” (passage graves) from the vikings, hundreds of years old oak trees, which sadly is a rare sight in Denmark now, and protected species of fauna and flora.
As a I child I used to bike all the way out here. Crossing over the big road, rolling down a hill, passing forests, fields, open land to the next forest, more fields and to the tip of this land. It would take an hour just to get here, or more if I biked alone. My mother back then lived on the other side of the inlet and I used to wave in her direction hoping she would see me and my dad. The area has changed a lot over the years. The cargo’s being in charge of the land, rents it out to hunters who does not understand the areas in the forests. It was used to be visited by the locals harvesting in a mushrooms paradise, so much that the eye would not notice anything afterwards. Now the trees are being cut to make profit, roads to open up for busses with tourists’ and school classes, heavy forest machinery 24/7 etc.
The forest that once seemed wild, silent, filled with ancient knowledge and cultural geographical heritage and welcoming company, living almost untouched in its own pace beside the singing owls, now seem closed and hurt. Not welcoming you in unless you assure you’re here as a friend. This being a vast contradiction to the open land areas the cargo keeps destroying. The rest will be a story for another time.
In the garden of my parents, they one day observed something outside their window. Something white and black, small jumping figure jumping around in the garden in the probably high uncut grass. Jumping between the home grown crops, bushes and trees.
It looked like a mini Panda but was indeed, just her. The rabbit, Panda. And so she moved in with them quite “rabbitly”.
From time to time my partner and I like to visit them, the area and Panda. During our last visit, she seemed off and/or lonely. I sang for her, longer than usual and instead of having short daily visits, my partner kept sending me out to sit with her. Time expanded and so did the cuddling. You see, Panda isn't a regular "come a touch me, rabbit" and not afraid to bite would you touch her when signalizing: "stay away". She is a wild furry woman only allowing you to come near when the weather allows.
I remember one day she asked me to take part of my art project; "now, come and take my picture, I am ready". So we did this photo shoot and signalizes when to take pictures and when she was in transition of changing. Normally she didn't like having taking pictures and mostly shows me her but butt before I even managed to click the button.
For my latest visit it was mostly stormy and cold, but I sat down with her in her anyway in the approximately 25squaremetres outside area, painted in wine red, next to her two level rabbit house and this beautiful massive old pear tree with a swing, directing you to this little lake ending the area of the garden itself.. While sitting with her I got washed, not on the hands but the shoes, the jacket etc. Sometimes she would even jump up to my elbow and seemed both busy, loving and shy at the same time. Never ever have I been allowed to touch her when she was washing me. This time she gave in while laying her body up against mine and I would caress her head, massage her long, soft and white ears and stroke my hand across her little body.
Later that day I visited her, just before the sun went down. Or maybe it already was. The day had been grey all day long, but we could hear a massive choir of birds singing along with the wind and she got curious. So was I. I had to explain the sound could be used for inner imagination, as there was nothing in eyesight, only an “earsight shopping spree” on the shelfs for this time around. And so we sat and listened together. Then she posed and asked me to take a picture. As she was dancing to the music of the winds and birds. Leaves raffle daffling and her fluid body, moving from side to side. She was standing in the top of the building, same level as me looking out on the trees, her outdoor area below and as I grabbed my phone she would pose and stand still, even push my phone up when I thought we were done and softly lay down, ready to be caressed signalizing “now, touch me” - as a contrast to her normal behaviour of showing me the back, turning the head around and being like: “why are you still here?”. The best picture from this series is a blurry one, yet filled with such silliness and life. Panda licking her mouth and making whimsical movements reminding me of a goofy dance I would make on a sunshine day. We wrapped up the shoot with yet another song, the "Panda evening song".
So were does this leave us, a story starring the Birch tree, memories of a forest and a Panda Rabbit?
When I made my evening ceremony for the birch tree I felt like someone was behind me. Next to me. Trying to get attention. I wasn't in the mood of attracting extra and so I focused on the Birch tree and grounding the overwhelm of feelings, deciding to nor accept or reject, just letting whatever being there, be there. Within and around me… But it kept feeling rushed and so I stood up, took a picture and became frustrated by the fact that I could not sit down and concentrate. I don’t know why I took the picture.
At the moment I kept thinking about a friend that passed away last year, who was a photographer living on the rough edge of the street and on rare occasions, visiting my partners’ couch. In the picture I could see two light circles on the right side - one small, one larger. Without thinking further, I felt like sitting down again. While sitting down again it never really crossed my mind, but I felt the presence of multiple ones saying farewell. I kept thinking of my friend from last year and her brutal circumstances and the wish to end in the ground. At the same time, something rushed around and at the end of my time, snuggled into me. I felt overwhelmed and once again sang, trying to calm down the Birch tree - or Myself. Hoping to create some kind of passage though I was tired and not properly awake to do this properly and then decided to do it shortly in order for not open up to something I couldn’t handle. But still managed whatever had shown up while making this ceremony for the Birch tree in the first place.
The Birch tree kept swaying its arms and rattles and I had the sensation of "hey, look at me", so I kept the ritual going on a bit more for the Birch tree as the sap dropping down on me felt like tears. Drip drop. Dropping down, one on one after each other. Sap tears that each time gently got carried along by the wind, landing exactly on my right upper hand. No matter where and in which direction I was sitting, the right upper hand was becoming the landing ground of the tears. The wind caressed my skin, just as when we did the farewell for my friend last year and it felt like this was the final farewell in this realm.
The friend was with me during a hard, but also wonderful trip last year, where I hiked alone to an area where my body collapsed and guided me safely back another route than planned. When I went inside, instead of sharing pictures of the Birch trees I felt like sharing some of Panda to my parents as she’s always a mood lifter and honestly, my body at that moment felt like an open wound, cracked far open on a storm, searching for beeswax to softly, gently wrap around me like a cocoon to comfort me to sleep. I felt my friend was finally gone for good. Some stored feelings of sorrow and yet, still healing. Placing my hand on the ground, I gently said goodnight to the land. Hoping nothing else had showed up in the open field and if so, that I would be protected for the light to come. Normally I have vivid dreams, but I remember nothing from this night but a fine rest.
The day after I was told Panda left her body a few hours before the evening blót… A part of me knew it was her running around me while sitting at the Birch tree, cuddling up against my right hand, where the sap drops would land. Now that I think back, it was always the right hand I caressed Panda with. I both remember her as a fierce lady with strong boundaries, goofy and with such energy bursting around showing her creations of tunnels etc. with such pride. And that even to her very last breath - she would always take a run, spreading out love, laughter and life.
The story with Panda ends here, in the forest with its mysteries yet to be resolved. What goes for the Birch tree, time will tell if it will be blossoming in front of or behind the eyelids.
X Ea
