There used to be a plum tree on the east side of the house. It was an old tree that didn’t produce much fruit by the time I moved in. I would get a small crop of fruit about every other year and I enjoyed making plum butter and filling up mason jars to give as gifts to friends.
I had a colleague from work come by one day to inspect the trees. She and her husband own a fruit orchard up in Green Bluff. She told me that the trees had been neglected too long with lack of pruning and that I should just pull all the fruit trees and start over with new ones.
Since I don’t need the fruit I didn’t heed her advice and just let the trees stand as they were. I had started pruning back some of the dead wood and the trees were assuming a good shape. Besides, I liked having these old trees because they supported the birds that came to nest each year. I kept a bird bath near the tree so they could have water to help them. I could sit on the side deck and watch the new families flitter about each year and I could watch the bumble bees move from blossom to blossom in the early spring.
A couple of years ago that sickly plum tree erupted in beautiful flowers. It was magnificent. One day I happened to be standing next to the tree when I received a phone call. As the conversation lingered, I would look up at the blossoms and just enjoy the sheer beauty. After a bit, I found myself wanting to get comfortable by leaning on the old tree. With the phone held up to my left ear I reached out with my right hand to lean up against the trunk. To my surprise the whole tree just fell over. The root ball came out of the ground. I couldn’t believe what happened. A tree that was in full bloom had simply fell over dead.
As I watch my parents age, I think of that tree. I think their real beauty is emerging as they near the end. Last night at the hospital I sat and watched as my mother held my father’s hand as he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion of coughing. My mother’s eyes were closed too. They were beautiful together and I did manage to record it with my cell phone camera. A keep sake I will save for another day when they are gone.
The circle of life is a continuum of birth to death. With the tree gone the round baskets I used to gather the plums with remain empty now. I am letting them decay naturally just as the tree had done and just as I will too.
The circle is the archetype for the self. It represents wholeness and stability. Jung described the symmetry of the symbol of the self as the union of the unconscious and conscious that happens through the process of individuation. It is the balance of the yin and yang of our personalities and it is the highest level of achievement we can strive for in this life. In some faiths people who do not achieve this balance are thought to reincarnate over and over until they achieve the state of nirvana or satori that I think are just different cultural terms expressing the same wisdom.
Today I am filled with joy and sorrow in equal measures. Light and dark combine to form the self. I am grateful for the way I can find words and images to help me reflect on the meaning of this special time we are having together.
Kind Regards,
Ira