Dear Reader;
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time there was a great jungle and in that jungle there were huge trees some of them towering above the land And at the very top of one of the very tallest trees was a woman She had climbed the tree looking for god knowing somehow that she wished to touch the sky There were others near her who watched and loved her but none could climb so high There she was beyond any earthly thing her feet upon a branch one arm wrapped about the trunk and the other arm extended hand open wide to touch that sky The tree swayed long massive sweeps for she was at the very tip and while the winds when they came only touched the lower branches the top of the tree was pulled as if to bow one side to the other tossed about like the hair of a laughing child The woman like the tree was robed in tendrils of greens all shades her hair nut brown mixed with sand so how could one tell where the tree ended and the woman began? They swayed together tree top and rider as she sculpted and conducted with her beckoning hand When first she had risen to this place she thought that she sought something and it was far from the world beneath But soon she simply felt the pounding of her heart the staggering grace and danger of her life of her place between Heaven and Earth Her raised hand sensed more than the high thin air For indeed she felt something palpable dense thick like cake she cut with her fingers smooth like sweet butter she painted with curled hands She touched She knew
For here was the realm of ecstasy even as her bare feet burned against the raw bark of the tree even as she knew that if she were to fall she would die she had no fear She had no wings and yet she knew in death she would fly For in the realm of in between Earth and Sky doors open doors made of ether and angel dust and white feathers dropped by soaring souls Portals of entry between realms and she saw now that what had once swallowed her whole in the world below disappeared like mist in the vast above cares once cast in stone faded now into vague memory She did not remember whom she had once been To let so much drop away meant she had become as free as death Her friends quietly watched looking up from the thicket of wide branches below They did not want to lose her but they knew she had to go Not one would have tried to stop her Not one whispered a word about how she must be careful come down and go home They understood without understanding They believed and had no idea of what was to come They waited still and uplifted a part of the story the writing of the tale of the force electric which flowed through them all
Then next they heard music voices raised in song and realized of course this was the start of it It must be voices of passion as the sky became thick with smoke the soft, warm smoke of being so near to the sun Through this cloud poured a light surrounding her in a pool and she let go her hold of the tree no longer necessary both arms raised now as if to embrace a beloved’s return And out of her back burst a purple flame lace wings damp from under her skin but now unfurling uncurling into plumes of sun smoke as she began to dissolve to smudge away from the sight of her friends the way you could erase a pencil sketch of an idea of a body to inhabit for awhile She disappeared into wholeness
What they saw was that she had been given by the tree to the sky Accepted received each particle within her became a particle in another realm It is true they feared she might be no more but what they saw was that she was everything she had found her everything her Earth had merged into her sun her Source of light This union so sacred doubt and shame was burned away leaving a purity which can only be claimed by rising deeply from the roots and the mud of the land When the smoke cleared the wind died and the tree stood still the light of day returned and with it silence as the choir rested and they remembered the music exquisite and rare by standing in the silence And such a silence it was It is said that every time a soul passes through the portal of the fire of the Sun their radiance spills down a thousand fold over the people who walk beyond the forest the people who live in the villages the cities and the temples They are not departed but rather expanded into a greater Presence than ever before To think a transitioning soul has been lost is like thinking a falling raindrop has been stolen by the sea And so the treetop woman walked the path between dimensions that most beautiful place where we remember everything even as we disappear And her friends returned to the Earth to tell her story for she was never seen again Not with eyes Not in this story which is at its end
When The Treetop Woman was received, as with most transmissions, I had no idea what would be given, but the image, the visual was very strong. In researching photos to illustrate the piece, I came across the beautiful story of Julia Hill. I was astonished at the parallels, especially in some of the images of Julia high in the arms of “Luna”, her chosen tree.
From an article by Maria Isabel in Cultura Colectiva.
“Julia "Butterfly" Hill, a 23-year-old woman, was inevitably linked to that of "Luna," a 1,000-year-old sequoia, in the Grizzly Creek Redwoods State Park in California, USA, that, in late 1997, a logging company threatened to cut down.
"Butterfly," as Julia was nicknamed for her love of butterflies, was part of the environmental organization Earth First. The environmentalists decided to put their bodies between the trees and the logging company's machines to prevent ecocide. In an extreme act, Julia and other of her companions chose some trees to climb and set up small camps in the heights as a measure to attract media attention. But what was to be a 2-week camping trip for "Butterfly" turned into a stationary expedition of more than two years…
In an interview, Julia said that the Pacific Lumber Company did everything possible to sabotage her expedition: they burned trees around her, flew helicopters over her, and shot water jets at her, not to mention the harsh living conditions at high altitude, which caused frequent blisters and injuries.
But the real test came in the winter of 1998 when a powerful storm hit the park for two weeks. It was then that Julia, the sequoia woman, claims to have heard "Luna's voice," reminding her that "rigid branches break, only flexible branches survive." Following this mysterious intuition, Julia clung to the young and flexible branches managing to save her life.”
The transmission, The Treetop Woman is not a story of physical survival, but rather one of intentional surrender to transformation. Yet the principle of flexibility remains key, the willingness to be tossed about by the storm, while trusting in the union between Earth and Light. The power of tree beings to traverse this union, every day, in service of every human soul.
This merging, this re-union awaits us all.
much love, Adi