It’s raining. It’s strumming on the roof and swooshing in the trees. Greedily, bushes and trees, their light green buds and blossoms which are awakening these days, drink up the water, giving their thanks by emitting their woody and floral fragrances that daze the air.
I’m still in bed, looking up at the ceiling’s wood beams and wonder if they’re really impervious to water. It’s cozy in my little room with the rustic, unplastered stone walls. It doesn’t bother me that it’s raining.
In the past days, I have made contact with nature on my walks.
I’ve tried wild garlic, eaten borage blossoms and taken home some rosemary for the kitchen. Cherry blossoms, almond trees, pines and olives, figs and orange trees, they all whispered to me, “It would be so nice if we got a little bit of rain. We have to make do with what comes down in spring, as many months of drought follow.”
One time, I took a break at a clearing and did a few yoga stretches, standing. When I was doing the “tree”, a position where you’re standing on one leg while the other one is bent and your arms are reaching for the sky, I imagined what it was like to actually be one of these trees. I picked out a pretty crooked pine and took up the same position; stretching my left arm downwards, analog to the tree’s protruding branch, and stretching my right arm steeply up. I imagined how my feet grew roots into the soil.
How is life as a tree?
What’s it like to stand here when the sun rises, only experiencing this one outlook, always, day in and day out, in cold and heat, rain and sun, always this one segment of reality, a whole life long. Spring, summer, fall and winter. Year in and year out. The pine can live up to 200 to 250 years. The oldest olive tree is 4,000 years old.
I stood like that for a long time, breathing, making contact with the surrounding trees and plants. The longer I stood, the more multifarious everything became that was within my sight. I discovered more and more details which had been hidden to me before: here a small orchid blossom on the ground between blades of grass, there a tree stump that seemed to have a face, infinite different shades of green surrounding me. And, the ground was no longer just a surface, it was a realm, an earth, with mountains and valleys, ravines and lowerings, a whole landscape to my feet, which I’d never registered before although I had daily passed it. So that’s what standstill feels like; so in motion and so rich in detail, a microcosm where everything is connected with everything. So that’s what life feels like when we allow it to be, when we listen carefully; when we ourselves become a tree.
Which is why the rain makes me happy, now that I’ve had my tree experience. Hopefully the joy will last, I think, then halcyon days lie ahead of me in Germany.
Rain on Ibiza is a rare good. In April, all it does is rain tourists, for months, about four million per season. They shower after getting up and before having a meal, they splash in the pool, drink tea and coffee, require fresh bedding, if possible daily, spic and span washed rental cars and nice green gardens that need to be watered twice a day. The water table is sinking rapidly and it’s getting tight for all those who are not hooked up to the public water system. So mainly for those living in the country. The farmers and the hippies.
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