Hidden Creatures of the Fallen Tree Project

Gazing into our photograph of the massive root system of the marooned, fallen tree. The one that lies on a Bembridge beach, being daily transformed by sand blasting wind, pounding waves and occasional bleaching sun, which between them sculpture and polish. We saw the multitude of creatures at their various stages of be-going and becoming.

Most were very shy, ‘morphing’ as we focused in their moments of transformation. I silently asked them, if they would mind us revealing some of those intimate moments.

That same night, I had an archetypal dream of clambering alone down a crumbling, muddy slope to the beach. On that moonless night the whole scene was none-the-less clearly visible … sky, sea, sand and muddy foreshore. Then my two loving friends came looking for me and brought me back to ‘a place’ where, ‘embarrassed’, I sought to avoid the people I knew and others from seeing me because, using my fingers, I was hauling from my mouth and throat what seemed to be old, dry, ‘hay-like’ stuff. Who really knows what that dream meant? But when I awoke, I ‘knew’ I would be able speak with the creatures.

Permission was now granted, so we patiently focused, located, glimpsed, lost and found, until we could confirm that we had at least discovered something. Then as we juggled our own and each other’s perceptions towards agreements, or disagreements, we discovered in the process that it was possible to safely perceive each other’s viewpoint, and yet still retain our own.

Meanwhile along the coastline’s rocks and sand, midst changing tidal conditions and through the busy, narrow harbour mouth avoiding chains, ropes and snags, came a nine meter sprawled out form.

Through criss-cross currents, swirling winds and lurking mud banks it came, avoiding potential human interference by harbour staff, fishermen or concerned boat owners.
Then it seems it patiently waited for high water to navigate around an obstructive pontoon.

It must have squeezed itself small - a trick maybe learned from a squid? Or, if not, then by manipulating its cluttersome shape, it settled into a small space like a returning dog who feels he’s been a bit naughty.
It succeeded in placing itself in precisely the right position behind our houseboat to be our responsibility and ours alone.

What did this tree want? Was it sent by the roots on the beach?

What were the hidden creatures of the fallen tree saying?

Was it a calling card, a warning, or an invitation?

Then we were reminded….

“When I was a boy my only friend was a tree, who played a massive role in my later life.” C.C.

And

“When I was a young woman, a Tibetan Buddhist monk instructed me to pay homage to roots, as apparently he believed I had been one in a former life.” K.G.

In our own ways we both felt a need to make an offering to the root that kindly gave us permission, and whom we believe sent us the gift of the travelling tree.