Yuletide Blessings from the Trees
Bright Yuletide greetings and blessings to you.
As I write this post, it is the evening of December 24th, and my thoughts are with the trees.
The mountains, I become part of it…
The herbs, the fir tree, I become part of it.
The morning mists, the clouds, the gathering waters,
I become part of it.
The wilderness, the dew drops, the pollen…
I become part of it.
- Navajo Chant
When I was four years old, my family moved from the inner city of Houston, TX to the wooded suburbs of Upstate New York. Not only was it a huge geographic and cultural shift, it was a move that expansively broadened my direct contact with nature. Our new house sat on roughly a cleared acre of lawn, backed up by seemingly endless forest. Back in Houston, I had already demonstrated that I had some kind of special connection to the elements. My mother liked to tell the story that she’d periodically find me staring out our front picture window at a tree in our small, urban front yard, and when she asked, I matter-of-factly reported that I was watching and listening to the wind. I remember that the wind used to whisper stories into my little ears of tales from its journeys around the world. In the woods surrounding our new home in Upstate New York, the trees instantly became my extended family and new circle of friends. They were pure magic, community. Throughout my elementary school years, I would play in the woods and the trees spoke clearly to me. Their direct communication faded as I grew up, and my parents moved back to Houston when I moved out at age 19, but I never completely lost that intimate resonance with trees. I only had to develop more intentional ways to maintain that ability to communicate.
Trees are such loving beings. In my experience, they love connecting with us and providing what they can for us. They are also powerful symbols of life for us. Beyond the fact that they deliver life-giving oxygen into the air, trees have a way of relating somatically to us and our bodies. We imagine that the roots are their feet, the trunk is their body, branches are like arms and a neck, leaves are like hair. Trees have a kind of heart and pulse. They breathe. They communicate to one another, care for one another by distributing resources. I’ve intentionally referred to myself as a walking tree. I’m know I’m not alone. In my opinion, no other more-than-human life holds quite the same iconic inspiration and connection for us than a tree. In fact, my favorite aspect of the yuletide season is that the Yule Tree (also known as the Christmas tree) is a conifer - in other words, an evergreen tree. And, though the evergreen does rest in winter by going through its own kind of dormancy, its evergreen nature means that a little photosynthesis continues through winter regardless. I see Winter as our time to rest without explanation. We are allowed a kind of hibernation. In fact, I think it’s essential for our vitality. Dormancy holds intelligence, not failure. The ecstatic burst of the coming growing season can only be manifested from the accumulated pool of potential energy granted by deep stillness. Perhaps evergreen trees are our wintertime companions and guides for this process, turning us towards this embodied awareness.
During the season of Yule, the symbol of the evergreen shows us the way life continues through the lean, cold depths of winter. And though this Earth Suit we each wear (our physical body) is on temporary loan, Life, itself, is resilient. Few colors inspire thoughts of life and the growing season like the color green. Whether you bring a tree or greenery into your home and hearth this season or admire it all naturally occurring outdoors through your windows, I invite you to rest deeply this season in the knowledge that life continues to be - ever with you and for you. In winter, trees do not rush. They do not apologize for stillness or justify their rest. They hold their shape against the dark, trusting what cannot yet be seen. For those of us moving through our own cold seasons—of grief, loss, or quiet unraveling—the trees offer companionship rather than answers. You do not have to be blooming to belong. You only have to show up and be.
Invitation to Ritual:
If it feels right, I invite you to choose a tree—one you pass often or can visit with some regularity—and allow it to become a quiet companion through the season. Approach slowly and notice how your body feels as you arrive. If there is ease, pause. Breathe. You might place a hand on the bark if that feels welcome, or simply stand nearby and listen. There is nothing you need to do and nowhere to arrive. Return when you can, letting the relationship unfold in its own time.
Comfort and joy to you this Yuletide season,
Jennifer Rotermund
Founder of Psychrament