Resolute Roots and Reaching Arms
Somewhere in the deep recesses of time and nature, I’m related to the Joshua trees that stand before me in the Mojave Desert. You are too. It’s the natural interconnection of all things, especially living ones—even if the connection is distant and tenuous.
The connection of Joshua trees to both trees and Joshua is also tenuous. They aren’t truly trees, but a species of yucca with visual resemblance to trees. Their only link to Joshua is that the yuccas’ expressive arms once reminded migrating Mormons of their legend of Joshua, waving them on towards the promised land. The name stuck.
Whatever anyone calls the Joshua trees, I feel something unique and sacred alive in their wild forms. Finally returning to visit them after forty-three years away, I ask them for guidance as much as the Mormons did, though my own seeking differs.
What I seek is the natural wisdom encoded in all beings, which transcends mere mind. How to thrive in turbulent times, far different from those for which we evolved?
Joshua trees have deep experience with this. They evolved to have their seeds spread by giant sloths, which have now been extinct for ten thousand years. They’ve persisted through wild changes of climate, from the last ice age to the current phase of planetary overheating. They’ve survived the recent onslaught of people focused on home building, dirt biking, and graffiti. Even now, Joshua trees remain dependent on a single species of tiny moth for pollination. Yet here they are, standing as expressively as ever, growing without complaint.
Their silent persistence inspires me, in the art of growing resolute roots. It’s the art of making the best of what home’s hard ground offers. I feel it as an affirmation of staying steady, in a time when many around me dream of leaving for some other land, imagined to be less troubled than our own. It’s all the same planet, though. Growing resolute roots upon it is at the core of thriving.
I find also find inspiration in the Joshua trees’ reaching arms. I’m reminded that our greatest personal growth often comes from reaching out to serve community and landscape, more than from looking within. Whether we’re serving family or strangers, wild land or gardened, giant sloths or tiny moths, we’re always strongest in service to each other, in this one greater interconnected life.
It’s a long process, to grow roots and arms. It’s part of a much longer process still, for our ancient precious planet. I’m humbly reminded of this by looking at the weathered landscape that hosts the Joshua trees. It’s taken tens of millions of years for the stone to erode into the beauty of the sculpted granite we see now. The stone is as expressive and alive as the Joshua trees themselves.
What I hear it all expressing is that no matter the rugged difficulty we may face, we’re already home, and others of all forms are here to assist us in thriving. I celebrate that with resolute roots and reaching arms, as another beautiful and challenging day begins.