Epilogue: Tree Politics

Lights come up on Girl, in a brown, torn dress, her body equally brown from sun and forest dirt.  She is lying on the freshly-sheered surface of a broad tree stump.  It is the remains of her mentor, Old Laurel. The trees around her are shifting projections of green, orange and gold. They speak in music, a chorus of voices and chimes that are solid like earth and light like pollen.

Trees: Soon is the time when you move.

Girl (a long, slow groan): No.

Trees: Yes, soon. It’s almost time.

Girl:  I can’t. I’m too sad.

Trees: You are a person.  You move.  Soon.

Girl:  I was supposed to become a tree. Like Old Laurel.

Trees: You will become a tree.

Girl: Not now. He was the only one who would teach me.  Now he’s dead and I’ll never become a tree.

Trees: No one is dead.

Girl (rises up on one elbow): Dead. You know what dead is.  Not with us anymore. Gone.

Trees: He is not gone. He is with us.

Girl (angry, sitting all the way up): No, look. (Pounds her fist on Old Laurel. A dull knocking sound). Gone. He was the only one who would help me, and now he’s cut down.

Trees: He’s below you.  Look down.

Girl (turns her head downward, trying to look through Old Laurel, through the dirt): I can’t.

Trees: He’s there.  He’s deep in the earth.

Girl (reaches to the ground, picks up a handful of sawdust, holds it against her chest): His roots. But they chopped down his body.  They took it somewhere.

Trees: There is no body. Some parts of us stay, but most parts of us go. Either way, they always become something new. You are something new, too. And you will be something new.

Girl (sighs, stares into the leaves and branches above her): You don’t understand. You don’t understand what it’s like to be a person. 

Trees: We will be a person.

Girl: I mean now.

Trees: Being a person is like being hurt and thinking the pain is your life.

Girl: We get attached.

Trees: You aren’t attached. You move.

Girl: I don’t know where to go.

Trees: You move.

Girl: Old Laurel was my teacher. He saved me when I was lost in the woods, and he showed me how to be a tree.

Trees: You will be a tree.

Girl: Not until I’m dead.

Trees: You can feel him.  You can smell his sap. He is still with you. 

Girl:  Only if stay here.

Trees: You are mingled together. You move and breathe him.  His life is in you.

Girl: I don’t want his life in me.  I want him to have his own life.

Trees: There is no own life.  There is only life. We are all part of the same thing.

Girl: I don’t want him to be dead.

Trees: There is no death.  Everything is life. You will move.

Girl (a long silence): Okay. In a while.

Trees: You are a person.  You move.

Girl: Just a few more minutes here.

The projections around her grow faster, brighter, their voices rising into a chorus.  Dancers surround the girl on the stump, jumping and swaying. Their movements form patterns, break up, regroup into new patterns.  The only still thing is Girl, lying in the middle of the dance. The song is slow, but the music pulsates like the quick heartbeat of birds.

Tree Song 

No one is lost

No one is alone

Even when your trunk has cracked

Your bark is stripped

Your branches dry and broken on the ground

You are in the earth

You are in the air

You are life.

You are dirt and air

Water and light

Nothing can destroy you

You are wise, old, safe

You cannot be gone

You grow where you are

You are in everything
You are here.

The stage is frantic with movement.  The projections beat in time with the music, flash green and orange and red. The dancers whirl in circles around the spot where Girl was.  But Girl and the stump are gone. The music changes, grows calm, comforting.  The dancers crouch close to the ground. Girl’s voice can be heard as they dance.

Girl Song

When I was stuck

Under a rock so heavy and dark

I thought I’d never lift it

I dreamed of green leaves

And branches stretching up to the light

A tree grew from under me

Lifted me from the dirt

Stood beside me as I stretched up to the sky

Now I have to be my own tree

Find my way to the sun alone

It will be scary

But I’ll remember the lesson of trees
I am never lost

I am never alone

I am in everything
I am here.

The music grows louder again, quickens.  The dance is orderly, in rows, circles, spirals. The order disintegrates, scatters, reforms. Girl and Old Laurel have joined in, dancing in joyous patterns, wearing the clothing of trees.

Trees: No one is lost

Girl:     When I was stuck

Trees: No one is alone

Girl:     Under a rock so heavy and dark

Trees: Even when your trunk has cracked

Girl:     I thought I’d never lift it

Trees: Your bark is stripped

Girl:     I dreamed of green leaves

Trees: Your branches dry and broken on the ground

Girl:     And branches stretching up to the light

Trees: You are in the earth

Girl:     A tree grew from under me

Trees: You are in the air

Girl:     Lifted me from the dirt

Trees: You are life.

Girl:     Stood beside me as I stretched up to the sky

Trees: You are dirt and air

Girl:     Now I have to be my own tree

Trees: Water and light

Girl:     Find my way to the sun alone

Trees: Nothing can destroy you

Girl:     It will be scary

Trees: You are wise, old, safe

Girl:     But I’ll remember the lesson of trees

Trees: You cannot be gone

Girl:     I am never lost

Trees: You grow where you are

Girl:     I am never alone

Trees: You are in everything

Girl:     I am in everything

Trees: You are here.

Girl:     I am here.

The patterns grown higher as the dancers lift each other, throw one another into the air, rise like birds up towards the ceiling. The lights become bright, brighter, until the greens become reds and the reds become orange and the colors become whiteness, and the dancers and stage and audience disappear into an explosion of light. 

            

<Chapter 47a

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