The Blooming Tree: Belief in the Morning After Coronavirus
Robin B. Zeiger
I find myself again and again seeking out the solitude and the promise of nature. The world pandemic has brought suffering, anxiety, stress, and apocalyptic images.
There is a beautifully meaningful Midrash (Jewish teaching story) about the advent of darkness. On their first day of creation, Adam and Eve ate of the fruits forbidden by the Creator. The Creator responded to their disobedience by banishing them forever from the Garden of Eden. We are then told:
When Adam on the day of his creation saw the sun sinking in the sky before him, he said, “Woe is me! Because I acted offensively, the world is darkening for me and is about to return to darkness and desolation — indeed, this is the death that Heaven has decreed for me.” So he sat down to fast and to weep throughout the night, while Eve wept beside him. But when the dawn began slowly rising like a column, he said, “Such is the way of nature,” and then proceeded to offer up a bullock.(Babylonian Talmud, Avodah Zarah 8).
The first couple became terrified of the darkness; only to learn of the dawning of a new day. Television and the internet and the 24/7 news brings us horrific images of sickness, death, despair, and economic downfall in a way unprecedented in modern times. It is hard to ignore these images. Nor, should we. We must be warned.
We must protect ourselves. And we must reach out to help others. Yet, sometimes there is too much of the horrific and we must look for something else beyond the pain. I am an eternal optimist, yet I too can become plunged into the darkness. It is here that I need the symbolism of the tree.
In two previous articles, I found myself very busy with this image of nature. In one article, I spoke about a very difficult dream of decimated tree stumps that I dreamt at the very beginning of this pandemic.
In another post, I spoke about the healing power of art. And I shared my need to create a solid core of safety in clay. I placed my clay creation outside on a tree stump in front of my house as a sort of monument to the moment. This tree stump is part of a larger “wounded tree” and stands prominently in front of my patio in the front yard.
This year, I found myself unusually worried. Perhaps this is what prompted me to place my creation upon it as a sort of offering. All the other trees in our front yard had already bloomed. I stared at the empty branches and I worried that this was it. The tree was dead and there would be no tomorrow. This is where I identify with Adam and Eve and their fear that there will be no morning after.
I live in a desert climate. The rains are more or less over for the year. And thankfully, we have been blessed by enough water for the first time in many years. I photographed my creation and left it to the elements to decide its fate. Interestingly the rains came again, albeit a bit gentler. My clay creation disappeared, presumably melted into oblivion. Yet, shortly thereafter I looked outside. And it was as if the art creation had helped herald the miracle of nature. My tree began to bloom
I have lived in the same house with the same trees for over ten years. Yet, up until this year, I only have noted seasonal changes in passing. This year, confined to the 100 meters around my house, I have begun to look and contemplate more deeply. Each leaf and flower and chirping bird is pregnant with meaning. And I have found myself reaching for the simple things. I am grateful for my piece of nature and the roof over my house.
As a psychoanalyst, I am very aware how powerless we all feel. What can we do to help ourselves, our families, and our friends? Nature is a wonderful remedy. If it is possible to go outside each day, even on a porch or a front yard or a short walk, this helps. Research demonstrates the calming aspect of nature, even in photos and screen savers and videos.
Nature soothes, heals and restores. In the morning, as I exercise, I find myself looking for YouTube pieces with inspirational scenes and sounds from nature to accompany my movement. I keep my windows open and bring flowers inside. And I try to notice the small changes.
I know that there are others all around the world who are suffering greatly. We cannot forgot that. And I am constantly inspired by those who work to find meaning in the suffering. There are those who work selflessly to help others. There are those who are gallantly trying to make lemonade out of very bitter lemons. Most of all, the trees and the flowers and the birds remind me not to stop believing in the morning after.
Robin B. Zeiger is a practicing Jungian psychoanalyst and a free-lance writer. She is a member of the International Association of Analytical Psychology and the Israel Institute of Jungian Psychology. She can be reached at rbzeiger@yahoo.com.
