weaving of mists and trees

It grew into a wild, beautiful tangle of limbs and branches, leaves and mist... a mystical silence, a pulsing paradox. Inside this was a flutter of wings, the call of birds, green dancing leaves made alive in the trembling breeze, sound and motion feathering the cool mist which was neither grey nor blue but something impossibly more, something illuminated from within... as if each drop of mist was a pinpoint rainbow, shimmering with radiance. This was all real yet this was also only an illusion...


Her senses became both alert and at peace, full and empty, a gentle balance point hovering between the "not two-ness" of things. And branch by branch, leaf by leaf, drop by drop, she rewove the tangle into a beautiful blanket under which she would lie someday with her new partner in peace and understanding.

A tree is roots and branches, twigs and leaves, earth, air and water and also something more....
Roots

She tried to tell him that no matter how much water, earth and sunlight you give a tree, it cannot survive if you chop away at its roots. To her, the roots of their relationship were trust and understanding but his brutal axe had little appreciation for this. By the time she watched her mom battling cancer, she finally said to him "Life is short. Do whatever makes you feel most alive and happy, you have complete freedom in this, just share what it is with me and all will be well" But the offer of unconditional love was too late. He continued to deceive and conceal things despite her openness. He convinced her that his happiness was in Thailand and he would find it by spending a month alone there. But before he left....