The Archetypal Queen

New things happen every day and my awareness deepens. I make little mistakes and gently guide myself back to a centered path. I had the most delicious guided meditation this morning, reconnecting with the memory of the Great Grandmother Oak that stands on my family's land in Southern California. The Queen of “Oak Meadows,” She has resided over my entire life.

I used to climb on Her as a girl, then as a maiden, then as a young woman, and now at the age of 37 She still welcomes me to rest my cheek against Her ancient skin, to dream in Her emerald hem. She is the tree of my soul, and my Grandmother's ashes are buried in the bright green grass of her loving shade. From a recess in one of Her branches, the heart-shaped faces of barn owls peer down. In Her massive trunk, a well where birds, squirrels, bees and other creatures come to drink of Her golden tannic waters.

She reminds me that life is impermanent, and that someday even She will fall. But in the meantime, She is alive, and the glories of that reality are enough to make the heart burst with light.

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast - downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
— A GIRL - Ezra Pound (1885-1972)

“Dreaming” by Maxfield Parrish, 1928