The Wisdom of Trees: A Spiritual Conversation with Nature

I’ve always found solace in taking walks—especially in the quiet hours of morning or the calm of late afternoon. During my time living in Vancouver, Canada, I was fortunate to have the ocean and a breathtaking trail just minutes from my home. It was along this path that I met five trees that would become more than just part of the scenery. They became my friends… perhaps even my companions, or as I often call them, my lovers.

You might wonder—why such deep affection for trees?

One morning, as I strolled past them, something unusual happened. I felt a presence, as if a voice had called out to me. I paused, glanced around, and my eyes settled on the trees I had passed so many times before. One of them seemed to speak—not through sound, but through something deeper. A feeling. A connection.

“Sir, are you human?” it asked.

Surprised, I answered, “Yes, apparently I am. Is there something you need?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” the tree responded. “Because today, I felt you were ready to listen.”

That’s when everything changed. The other trees joined in, their presence becoming more vivid, more alive. Birds began to gather—sparrows, seagulls—and the air buzzed with a gentle energy. I sat down, and we spoke in the language of the heart.

I asked them, “Do you have any guidance for me?”

The tree replied, “You humans are strange creatures. We envy you—you can move, choose, and change. We are rooted, fixed in place. But in our stillness, we observe. I’ve stood here for more than a hundred years, witnessing change, joy, sorrow. My story is carved into the rings of my trunk—each year recorded by sun and rain, wind and drought. If someone truly listens, they can read these stories.”

I asked, “Who are those who can understand the mysteries?”

The tree answered, “Anyone with a heart willing to listen.”

Then the birds joined in.

One said, “We have a complaint. We sing every day, trying to lift your spirits, to remind you of life’s beauty—but no one listens anymore. People are lost in radios, screens, and distractions.”

I asked, “What do you sing to us about?”

“We tell you not to be anxious,” it said.

“But how?” I asked. “I’m overwhelmed with problems—uncertainties about the future, challenges of migration.”

“Look at me,” the bird replied. “I have no insurance, no retirement plan. I wake each day without guarantees. I search for food with no storage or safety net. I dodge predators and survive the cold. Still, I sing. I raise my young. I live with danger, yet I choose joy. This is the lesson I offer.”

Another bird, a nightingale, flew close and whispered, “Why do you put me in a cage?”

“Because we love you,” I said.

“What kind of love confines another?” it asked gently. “I wasn’t born to be caged. I was born to be free. If you create a beautiful environment, not only will I stay—I’ll bring my friends. Your world will be filled with music. But you cut down the trees, dry up the streams, and replace flowers with concrete. There’s no space left for me.”

I felt a wave of shame.

Another tree spoke: “You walk beneath our shade, replaying old grudges, obsessed with the past. You say, ‘I must get revenge.’ We wonder—why ruin your present for something that’s already gone? We’ve seen sorrowful people sit beneath us, lost in pain. If only they asked, we’d share our wisdom. You have the freedom to leave, to change, to grow. We don’t. With all your choice, why choose despair?”

They continued, “We don’t say don’t grow. But don’t forget to live. You’ve abandoned what matters and chase what doesn’t.”

Their words cut deep. I told them, “That’s enough for today.” But they laughed softly.

“If your soul is tuned in,” they said, “the entire world speaks to you. Even the stones. Everything is alive.”

Just then, a crow joined us.

“I once entered a garden,” it said. “People were eating fruit. They praised the garden’s beauty. But the host said, ‘These crows ruin everything.’ One guest—perhaps a biologist—replied, ‘Crows have lived here for millions of years. You are the newcomer. If you’ve taken their land, at least give them a share.’”

That moment stayed with me.

From that day on, I became a friend to those five trees. Now, whenever I pass by, I stop. I touch them. I thank them—for the lessons, the wisdom, the love.

I open my window just to hear birdsong, to offer seeds. Dogs, cats, sparrows—they’re all part of life’s orchestra. Without them, life loses its charm. And yet, some train others to chase and harm them. Why? Who gave us the right to live and them not? If they’re sick or dirty, let’s heal them, not harm them. They’ve lived on this Earth long before us.

When you build something, plant a tree beside it. Water it. Nurture it. Give back. Because without nature, your happiness will always be incomplete.

True happiness is found in connection—in giving. When you walk in solitude, reflect. Reconnect with the world around you. Let your soul breathe.

My grandfather once told a story:

“When scooping wheat into a new sack, let some fall through your fingers. Let it spill a little. The ants and birds have a share too.”

The old farmers knew: harvest isn’t just for us—it’s for all life.

So, my dear friends, let your hands spill. Share your time, your energy, your wealth. Plant today. Harvest tomorrow.

With love,
Mahmoud Moazami