the willow and the birch

The trick it is to be as relaxed as a leaf of the weeping willow and

as excited as a leaf of the silver birch, both at the same time

Have you ever sat by a riverbank and gazed upon a weeping willow? The way its leaves hang, they are so relaxed. If I had named this tree, I would have called it the relaxed willow. Even on a windy day, blustery, those long tails of leaves might drift a little in the wind but still, when the rest of nature is perturbed, the weeping willow looks relaxed, those leaves hanging so easily, effortlessly, nowhere to go, nothing to do, just enjoying.

Have you also, perhaps high on a mountainside, sat and watched a silver birch? Its leaves also have something to teach us. They tremble, not out of fear but out of excitement for life. The slightest wind and they are all dancing without restraint, merrily, crazily, living the moment fully. Even on the stillest of days, you can feel that excitement in the leaves of the silver birch. They are waiting, just waiting for an excuse to dance once more. And usually, even though there is no breath of wind, you'll see a few little leaves cannot contain themselves, and they will dance anyway, fluttering joyfully, in love with life.

These two trees, with their leaves, apparently so different, can show us the way. For our natural self is to be found in a deep relaxation into life, into being. The leaves of the weeping willow show us: so relaxed, effortless, without any goal in mind, no striving, just enjoying, without any struggle whatsoever. Yet, even in that deepest of relaxations, in the stillness, in that spaciousness that opens up within, in that great silence of consciousness, of existence, that is within us, we will feel that barely containable dance of the leaves of the birch. All the energy of creation is there, just waiting for an excuse to dance. A hint of breeze, just the slightest touch of a blade of grass and the whole of creation will explode in the dance. That too is within us, at the same time as the relaxation there is that potential and indeed the dance itself. For know this: when two things seem utterly contradictory, totally incompatible with each other, if they can both be brought into being in the same moment, in the same act, in the same delight, then know this well, you are almost certainly dancing with truth, dancing as truth, truth dancing through you, as you. For truth is utterly paradoxical. It has no regard for logic, or consistency, or repetition. No. Truth dances with the stillness of weeping willow leaves and it rests with the excitement of the silver birch leaves. This is truth, this is truth, this is truth.