Nature

Channeled Writings: Trees as Sentient Beings

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Illustration by Jennifer Palmer

Tell me about trees. Trees are sentient beings. They share their wisdom through the soil and elaborate root systems. They can read people’s thoughts, just as they can read all the woodland creatures’ thoughts.

Why do some trees interact with people? Trees are social. They understand the importance of working together, but they have learned to mistrust humans because of your wanton destruction of nature. Because of this, many trees choose not to communicate with humans — at least not until a person has proven himself worthy of trust.

Is it worth taking the time to talk with the trees? If you can build a relationship with trees, then do so. The more you expand your consciousness of knowing that everything is connected, the more rapidly you will awaken to the Oneness.

You must have talked with trees. Yes, I spoke with everything within this dream, and still do. The forms do not matter since everything within this dream is projected from the same mind.

The trees are not perfect nor enlightened. They still have fear in their hearts, but they have more love than fear.

Trees are confined to where they are rooted and must endure the storms thrown their way. Realizing they can never truly die, the trees dance in the very winds that threaten to snap their branches. This has taught them the art of forgiveness while remaining connected to the vastness of the skies and winds.

The winds carry the scent of the fields and moisture of the rivers. The winds also share their knowledge with the trees, allowing the trees to be aware of much more than their immediate surroundings. In addition, the trees have known the mind of every traveler who has passed beneath their branches. Don’t ever feel sorry for the trees. They contain vast amounts of wisdom and knowledge, which they share between themselves, and could share with you. But again, I ask you to remember that the trees, like yourself, are illusionary forms within this dream.

The Talking Tree

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lollipop-tree

It was near the end of summer, still warm in Michigan. My husband and I were touring a tree nursery. The man that worked there escorted us down long row of trees, all neatly balled and on display for purchase. I held the landscape architect’s blueprint in my mind — only a few types of trees fit the plan.

As we walked, I noticed a sickly tree, off to the side, leaning against a pile of woodchips. Actually, it seemed more like it had fallen over. Most of its leaves had fallen off. This tree didn’t fit the plan so I didn’t really consider it, but I felt sorry for it because I was sure it was dead, but then a faint voice entered my head, pleading, “Help, me.” I was certain the “voice” was my imagination, because I believed trees didn’t talk. (I should point out that I wasn’t a shamanic healer at that time. In fact, I was an atheist, so the concept of Oneness and the ability to communicate with nature spirits was foreign to me.) I walked away, examining a row of healthy trees that were full of green leaves. We reached the end of that row and returned down another. As we approached the sickly tree again, I heard its faint voice repeat, “Help, me.” Now I was concerned about the state of my mind. Why did I think this tree was talking to me?

The third time around, I avoided looking at the sickly tree, but, as we passed by, I heard its voice once more say, “Help, me.” My  heart couldn’t ignore the tree’s pleas any longer. I pointed at the sickly tree, and asked the employee, “How much?” He and my husband looked at the nearly dead tree leaning to the side. The employee contemplated for a moment, then gave me a price that was fairly high (considering the shape the tree was in), but he assured me they had a one-year guarantee. “I’ll take it,” came out of my mouth, surprising both me and my husband.

A week later, the tree company installed the sickly tree that didn’t fit the architect’s blueprint and I wondered if my impulsive move had been wise.

The tree stood barren all fall and winter. I often studied it from the back windows, wondering if it would survive because I no longer heard its voice.

When Spring arrived, buds appeared on the branches of the once sickly tree. It had survived! After a few more years, the tree turned into a beautiful, lollipop-shaped tree, lush and green, and obviously happy with its place in this world.