We're a chatty bunch, humans. Flapping our gums like leaves on a tree, even when there's no breeze. Selling stories for attention we can barely afford.
Nature scantily speaks in whispers we misapply and still, we stand on our confidence victorious, unaware of our naiveté.
My oldest friends have stood for centuries, mute though infinitely industrious. They are named, Sequoia.
Sequoioideae, a three-genus subfamily of the cypress family. The most majestic being Sequoiadendron giganteum or giant sequoia, found on the slopes of the Sierra Nevada of California and along the lost coast where I grew up.
Living among the Sequoia is a humbling experience. Feeling its' centuries-old presence awakens ones' awareness of impermanence.
They have lived through more storms, forest fires, floods and wars than any human ever could. They lived, bragging to no one of their victories.
My artist friend spend hours trying to convince me to volunteer to drive my bus to Oakland, California and pick up a group of inner-city kids. Her plan was to bring them to my house in the woods so they could see a forest and then take them to the ocean so they could see the beach. Then we would drive them back.
I had my own reasons for my reluctance, but my friends' persistence prevailed. So we did indeed drive to Oakland and collected a group of 50 kids for 2 days.
When we arrived and loaded them up onto the bus trouble was already brewing.
Some troubled kids pretend to be adolescent thugs, but these kids were not pretending. The whole two hours drive they covertly made threats to some of the other kids and I was worried we may have made a mistake bringing them here.
They had stares etched on their faces no child should be allowed to wear. Hardened, criminal faces.
As we pulled off Highway One onto the 5-mile, forested, dirt road, they peered out the windows of the bus in wonder. A hush fell upon them for the first time since we departed the city.
The bus inched down the road like a caterpillar, as I watched miraculously the serenity metamorphosize on their worn faces.
When the bus came to a stop I braced myself. Fully expecting them to jump out in a chaotic frenzy, I was surprised to see them quietly pour out of the bus, peering skyward at the cathedral of trees. Utterly speechless.
Many of these kids have never been exposed to nature, let alone Giant Sequoia trees.
Standing in a grove of these Jurassic giants, their majesty intoxicates your perception of time and space. Revealing the insignificance of our grand designs and how fleeting our ambitions become in comparison to their deep-rooted permanency.
We ushered them to their cabins and settled them in for dinner and as the weekend unfolded, they became children again.
The therapeutic immersion in the natural world, sprouted a new sense of connection, unlike anything these kids have ever experienced before in their lives.
Cell phones do not function in these woods, but they never complained or seem to miss them and they returned to the city different than when they arrived. Enthused with new eyes and a deeper understanding of themselves.
The Sequoias had whispered some primeval secrets into their ears, each interpreting it in their own way. Lost in their thoughts of their shared experience, the ride home was hushed.
My heart was changed forever after that experience, realizing how fortunate I was to live among these guardians of nature. Silenced by their wisdom, my thoughts muted long enough to hear their benevolent teachings, I play at their feet like a grandchild, secure in the gifts they have bestowed.
Seeing these nature-deprived children drink in the beauty I'm continually bathed in, renewed my eternal appreciation for my perrenial friends, the Sequoias.
