The Wisdom of Oaks

When I Heard the Answer

When I was in my mid-twenties I became a witch. In an early magical experience I received a revelation that has guided me in all things, magical and mundane.

My friends and I had read a few books about what the solstices and equinoxes were astronomically, astrologically, and allegorically. We committed to memory correspondences of elements and cardinal directions and colors and crystals. Other women taught us songs to invoke goddesses and powers of earth. We used our breath and concentration to cast a circle, and inside it made magic together. We called ourselves witches.

One summer solstice afternoon we met under an oak tree at the top of the east meadow at the UC Santa Cruz campus. It might be the tree in this picture. This is the view I remember, anyway.

(Photo by James Clifford)

I was 26 years old, in my first real relationship and first real job. I had had a feminist awakening and a lesbian coming out. I made more money than I ever dreamed of and lived in my own studio apartment. Nobody could tell me nuthin’. But deep inside, I held a secret.

My friends and I gathered at the base of an ancient oak on a summer solstice afternoon. We stood in a circle and invoked our goddesses in foreign languages. We formed a circle out of our intentions and love for each other. From this circle we created a sacred pocket of women’s power, near enough to the busy road we could hear it if we wanted to, but we did not want to.

It was so close to the road, I just now found the tree on Street view.

This is not the same tree, but near it, in another photo by Jim Clifford:

That picture gives the feeling of what it was like under the tree.

So I’ve set the stage. We are under the tree. We have cast our circle, blessed our bodies, sung our songs. We are ready to do the magic.

For this magic, we imagine that we are traveling to another place, in another dimension. This hillside under the tree, in sight of the great ocean and bay, but a magical space, where we approach this mighty tree, give it our attention, praise its beauty and strength, and ask its advice. In our imaginations we each approach the tree and say our prayer.

I told the tree my secret. I was obsessed with my love life. In love with a woman who couldn’t come out for fear that she would lose her children. In love with a woman who was in a lesbian relationship for the first time. In love with a woman who was ten years older than me. In love with a woman who was my boss. Yes, that was all the same woman.

Oh, mighty oak, thou who hast stood here for a century. Mighty oak who stands at the edge of forest and the sea, who spans earth and sky. Mighty oak who saw the coming of the Spanish axes. Mighty oak who sheltered the gentle people of meadow and seaside. Hear my plight. From your ancient wisdom draw up a message for me, your supplicant. What should I do?

I put my hand on the rough grey bark and opened my eyes, turning my gaze to the canopy above.

And the tree answered. “I don’t care about you.”

Thus I learned my place in this world, my precious single lifetime, like an acorn dropped among the leaves.