It is cold, but I am warm.  Perched upon Hari, the split-back bucket-seat Live Oak desk chair in the woods.   It is night, and dark.  The now silent crickets of summer ring just as loudly in the head of winter.  Leaves are fewer, the air more naked, and the distant traffic louder.  As are all the muffled sounds from farther off.  Cars, dogs, a wood pigeon, accelerating motorcycles, airplanes;  at the moment no coyote serenades or great horned owl hoots.  Or those spikes in the air that are human voices.  The waning super moon rises much too late now to illuminate the woodland any time before crossing the creek back home.  I night blind myself writing on the phone.  But can see the slightly lighter pattern above that is sky,  through the black lace canopy supported by the faint lines of an elegant and solid array of erect, leaning, arching, and fallen Beings of earth.

Drumming on certain – many – trees can set up a transformative resonance.  To do so upon the Yin and Yang sides of a double trunked tree such as Hari creates a most fertile frequency for manifestation of change.  I drum and find the sweet spots with my hands until they too cry with joy.  Join with the tree as sacred music, and wait for the colors of the sounds of celebration to appear in their momentary perfection.  A dead tree, unburdened from the weight of carrying on as a life form, can ring as high and sweet as Paolo Soleri’s bells.  If you listen: The great gift of healing music.  Ask your local luthier.


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