The Rings of a Life Well-Lived

At 40 years and counting, my path as a Hedge Druid has been a continuous journey of looking inward and outward, of listening to the whispers of the wind and the deep, silent wisdom of the earth. Lately, I've found myself drawn to a simple truth, one a tree has been teaching me my whole life: my journey is etched in my being, much like the growth rings of a venerable oak.

The Annual Cycle: Seasons of the Soul

Each passing year has been a new ring added to my core. Some were wide and light, marked by periods of great joy, spiritual expansion, and effortless growth. These were the years when the sun was abundant, and the rains were gentle. Other years, however, were narrow and dark. These were the lean times, the droughts of the spirit and the long, cold winters of introspection. I've learned to honor both. The wide rings gave me confidence and ease, while the narrow ones gave me an unshakeable resilience. A tree doesn’t question the seasons; it simply grows. And so must we.

The Memory of the Land: My Personal Chronology

A tree's rings are a silent diary of the land's history. A scar from a long-ago fire, a series of thin rings from a drought—they are not flaws but markers of a life endured. When I look at my own life, I see my rings holding the memory of my own struggles and triumphs. The hardships I’ve faced aren't just scars; they are woven into the very fabric of who I am. They are a testament to my connection with the world around me, a physical record of the forces that have shaped me. They remind me that I am part of a larger story, a living chronicle of my journey through this life. 

The Core and the Self: Rooted in My Beginning

The very first ring, the one at the heart of it all, is the beginning. It represents the purest, most authentic version of myself, the initial spark before the world began to shape me. When I meditate, I often journey back to this core, to reconnect with the truest self I was meant to be. The rings expand outward from this point, a continuous journey of becoming. My current self, the outermost ring, is the result of all these layers of experience, still vibrant and growing, but forever rooted in that initial truth.

The Sapwood and the Heartwood: The Living and the Enduring

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand the difference between the sapwood and the heartwood. My youth was my sapwood—the active, vibrant, and living part of the tree, where all the energy flowed. It was a time of rapid learning and experience. Now, the innermost rings of my life have become my heartwood. They have hardened into a foundational wisdom that gives me strength and stability. My past experiences, though no longer "active" in the same way, are what allow me to stand tall and support others. They are the solid core from which new growth can emerge.

The Metaphor of the Wound: Growing Around the Scars

Perhaps the most profound lesson the tree has taught me is about healing. If a tree is wounded, it doesn't try to erase the injury. It grows around it. The new rings enclose the scar, integrating it into the tree's structure and often making it stronger. This is a powerful lesson in resilience. My own wounds—the painful memories, the difficult moments—have not been erased. Instead, I've grown around them. They have become the unique knots in my wood, adding character and depth to my life's grain. They are the beautiful imperfections that tell the story of my journey.

The tree is more than just a plant to me; it is a profound teacher, a silent chronicler, and a testament to the enduring power of growth. In its rings, I see not just a record of a life lived, but a spiritual map of my own journey toward wisdom and wholeness. I invite you to find your own tree and listen to the story it has to tell you about yourself.