The Glow and Sweetness of Nothing

This is a story about a tree. This tree is both extraordinary and exceedingly, well, ordinary. This tree is ancient, untouched by human activity, and above all, free. This freedom is apparent in both big ways and small ways, if one cares to look, feel and understand.

This tree, this old, sun-kissed pear tree, has an untouchable spirit. This tree has grown on sunlit rolling hills for centuries, nourished by the calls of birds and the bustling of the creatures it supports. The pear tree is the embodiment of abundance, of peace and of surrender — and hopefully, we can all learn something from its journey through life.

Gently swaying in the honey of sweet, golden light, immersed in presence and bathed in stillness. This is all that exists.

Everything and nothing is here at once. A pear hangs lovingly on a narrow branch, as a child would hold their mother’s hand. The only sounds that exist are the soft trills of songbirds, the gentle rustling of leaves in the fragrant breeze.

This bountiful pear tree has existed here for many years -- although no one can know for certain how many. This tree has had the good fortune of growing far away from humanity, nestled in rolling green hills where time does not exist; where all that matters is the chirping of cicadas in the warm summer breeze.

Nothing happens here -- only the swishing of the grass in the playful winds, the growing of leaves, the slow blossoming of flowers to succulent, golden fruit. The worms churn through the rich dark earth, revitalizing it and providing nourishment for all who dwell in this secluded corner of the countryside. The sparrows even sing “nothing happens here” in their language, a trilled celebration of the sweetness of those words.

As far as the pear tree is concerned, it has always been here. It has always — and will always — be. The pears swing on their branches, feed the birds, squirrels and deer, then drop to the earth in order to sprout new life. The tree has never known a more fulfilling cycle.

Even through harsh rain and storms, the tree simply stands. It may lose leaves or branches, but it can always grow more, so it doesn’t worry. In fact, it welcomes the pelting rain and the bitter winds, for they provide variety in this sweet corner of the world. The tree simply stands and accepts everything as it is, because that is all it can do.

Still, even if the tree could pick up its roots and stroll away from its home nestled in the rolling green hills, it wouldn’t. Things are perfect here, though, of course, nothing is perfect. To the tree, the imperfections become perfect because they are all that exist, and there is no point in fighting what is.

Dancing in the wind to the song of the crickets and cicadas, nothing could be sweeter than this moment. Nothing matters except this moment and flowing with the ups and downs; the lefts, rights and diagonals of life. This is surrender; to be at peace with what is. This very concept is all that the enormous tree has needed to thrive over the centuries in the soft, sun-dappled grass where its trunk rises so magnificently out of the earth.

This is pure freedom, and every cell of this great tree is infused with it. A wondrous entity much sought after and often called elusive is in fact one that is easy to attain, and the tree knows this. It knows that the glow and sweetness of nothing, nothing at all, is in fact all that one needs.