The Important Thing We Bring to Another Person

The pathway began at the edge of our backyard, leading into the shadows and solitude of the deep woods.

It was nothing more than a well-trodden deer trail, yet it became an escape route from the frustrations and uncertainties of life.

The path opened up to a cluster of tall trees. I was ten years old when I first ventured down the trail and discovered them. They swayed in the breeze, trunks creaking and groaning like old men steadying against the wind.

Twisting limbs jutting skyward blurred into the broad canopy of foliage high above. Was it my imagination, or were the limbs inviting me to scale their intertwined arms? What secret or prize awaited at the top of their lofty reach?

Balancing on the tips of my Keds hightop sneakers, I strained to reach the lowest branch. Finding purchase, I lifted myself up, thus beginning a journey I would repeat for years to come.

Ascending higher and higher, I clung tightly to the safety of the branches. Curiosity about what I would find at the top was stronger than my fear of falling.

At last, I climbed past a tangle of limbs and rose above the canopy of leaves and branches. The sunshine and blue sky above were bright, and my eyes took a moment to adjust.

Nestled and seated securely amongst the top branches, I closed my eyes. There was a breeze and I could feel the entire tree below me gently swaying back and forth. It seemed like the tree was breathing.

Trees are as close to immortality as the rest of us ever come.— Karen Joy Fowler

I felt completely safe and at peace. Whatever troubles or worries that drove me into the woods that day seemed to melt away.

The secret of the treetops was that sanctuary and peace could be found there. In the years that followed, I often returned to my arboreal refuge. It became a haven from the vicissitudes of life. A place to recharge my spirit and cleanse my soul from the stains of life’s hardships and sorrows.

Not that my childhood and teen years were bad, but there were occasional family struggles, friendship turbulence, and other growing pains. I needed a place of tranquility and silence, and the trees gave me that. And more.

A series of losses, from beginning to end

So many of the things I have loved and took comfort in are gone now. My parents have passed on, along with a supporting cast of family and friends who loved and nurtured me along the way.

Life seems sometimes like nothing more than a series of losses, from beginning to end. That’s the given. How you respond to those losses, what you make of what’s left, that’s the part you have to make up as you go.
— Katharine Weber, The Music Lesson

Our family home in the hills of Los Gatos, California, was sold many years ago, and I live in a different state now. I can no longer trace that old pathway to my cluster of welcoming trees. Even if I could, ascending their branches now would probably be unwise.

Painting by the author

When I close my eyes and even in dreams, I can walk through every room of our family home and its surrounding grounds. I see the faces and hear the voices of loved ones long gone. I miss them all, but time and maturity have taught me to make peace with loss.

What helps is that sense of serenity I found high in the treetops. Nestled in the canopy and swaying in the soft rhythms of the mountain breeze, a divine silence crept into my soul.

This notion of peace found in silence remains with me today. When I was younger, I thought the lesson of the trees was to seek sanctuary in your life. Places to recharge and renew your spirit.

But the trees had a deeper lesson for me to learn.

Something beyond the moment

So much of our lives are assaulted by clamor, commitments, expectations, interruptions, and the hurly-burly of daily living. No wonder we flee to the stillness of lakes and the serenity of mountains. We instinctually know that nature and silence are good for our souls.

Healthy and restorative as these outdoor sanctuaries are, the good news is that we can replicate them at home. A simple backyard garden or quiet room for reading, prayer, or reflection can effectively calm our hearts and minds.

Even better, we can train ourselves in the practice of restorative breathing and meditation to create a kind of sanctuary within ourselves. An inner peace.

People who set aside regular time for meditation, prayer, and/or quiet reflection tend to be calm and peaceful. Ever notice such people are often a pleasure to be around? It’s as if their stillness and centered calmness are infectious.

Just as trees communicate and take care of one another via an interconnected root system, people are connected as well via our shared humanity. And those who have learned how to quiet their own souls can help others to do the same.

How?

Through the power of silence.

Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us, not the sort of silence that is filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence. It is hard to find. In its presence we can remember something beyond the moment, a strength on which to build a life. Silence is a place of great power and healing. — Rachel Naomi Remen

People love good listeners. We want so badly to be heard and to have someone listen quietly and validate what we are feeling.

As Rachel Naomi Remen notes in the above quote, the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us. The space for another person to take refuge.

Lighten the burdens of another

When we listen and offer silence, we give another person the space they need to talk. To be heard. To know someone cares.

We become a sanctuary for others.

The trees taught me a lot about being a sanctuary. Sitting atop their limbs and branches, above the canopy, the trees offered a silent place of refuge. No judgment, no advice, just silent sanctuary.

The deeper lesson was that we need to take care of one another, just as trees take care of each other.

Painting by the author

The trees, in their silent embrace, took care of me. I was only a ten-year-old boy, and they were like wise old men, cradling me through my insecurities and fears.

No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another. — Charles Dickens

A lot of people wonder about the meaning of life. They consume self-help books and chase money, fame, and possessions to find happiness.

Hopefully, time and wisdom will teach us that love is the meaning of life. Just like those wise old trees, we are meant to take care of one another.

Learn how to become a sanctuary within yourself, and then use the power of silence to become a sanctuary for others. I can’t think of a better way to honor the wisdom of those old trees.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, and write about life. To follow along, check out my Saturday Newsletter here.

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This post was previously published on Medium.

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Photo credit: John P. Weiss