This tree makes a good home for the birds.

I was sitting on my back porch, writing in the sun.

Beside me grows two trees entwined in a tight embrace, one a camellia, the other a pittosporum, having grown together for many years on the same spot.

The morning was quiet, bar for the sound of my clickety-clack, until I heard a quiet rustle high up in the leaves above me. There was a little New Holland Honeyeater, hopping from branch to branch, looking as cosy as can be.

The words, “This tree makes a good home for the birds,” resonated through my mind.

It should be “these trees”, but I digress.

Such a simple statement, duh on the surface, yet sank into my soul with the import of something much deeper.

This tree makes a good home for the birds.

I closed my eyes to meditate on that reverberation through my being, like a deep drum beat.

“Remember how we are all connected. See not just the bird, but the bugs, lichens, mosses, microbes, and spirits. All rest and depend on this one tree.”

It seems so obvious when pointed out like this, yet it is not. It is a truth too conveniently forgotten, even for someone like myself who claims to believe in spirits and the connection of all life.

Do I truly look at the tree? Do I even see the tree?

Yes, I say hi in the morning when I sit down with my coffee in its shade. But have I asked how it feels in the drought of summer? Have I wondered at its childhood as a wee seedling, once upon a time, decades ago? How often do I consciously marvel at where its roots go? How often do I give thanks for its invisible gifts of shade, oxygen, presence and beauty, so benignly given?

Even as someone who believes in spirits, how much do I truly consider the tree's beingness? Or is it just an idea?

And then, extending that to all plant life. All animal life. All microbial life. All spirit life. All life.

It can be overwhelming. It can flood me with guilt and shame. It can throw out of whack every small thing in my life, existentially. Where I live, how I live, what I eat, what I wear, what I do for a living.

It is easy to disconnect, to forget, to look aside.

How do I keep myself aware of this depth of connection without overwhelming, while remaining wholly dependent on a system that is explicitly designed to run on disconnection and separation?

That is a question I am still pondering.