Peace & Solace

I stand tall, in the wilderness amongst my compatriots, feeling like just one small part of a much, much larger organism. It makes sense given how interconnected I am with my fellows, all tied together in an extensive system of roots, grandeur, and history. Our ancestors from before us exist as part of this system tying us altogether. Our next generation is already budding and ready to join in when the time is right. We’re all perfectly in-tune, perfect replicas of one another, perfectly outstanding, as one being.

We carry a burden, though. We exist in a place people escape to; a place where people expect to leave behind something. Usually something that weighs them down. I’ve heard it all, really, as one of the elders in the pack. Because of my experience in handling some of the most difficult of the worries, the younger look to me to be the carrier of some of the worst. People come through, weaving to and fro, sometimes quietly thinking and pondering, passing along an energy of grief or trauma. Those are the toughest ones to take on. But it’s why we’re here. To stand tall and strong, as one being, ready to carry away the sadness that can otherwise be overwhelming. We’re here to take on those burdens and carry them away to the depths of streams and to the open air of the mountains. We’re here to relieve the people who come to us for peace and solace.

We have an intricate support system to handle these types of things. Usually starts with some signs of our wildlife friends. They usually start with their hooting and hollering as people join us. The more of a kerfuffle the animals make, the more we know about how heated folks are coming in. Sometimes it’s a couple of friends working out their problems together, using each other as a sounding board, sharing some of the work in handling troubles. These cause the most fuss amongst our furry and feathered friends, but it makes our job easier. We can listen in, pass notes along throughout our organized network, and only weigh in with a simple nudge here and there if absolutely necessary. This is people helping people and it warms our insides.

But then there’s the silent mover. The ones the birds just kind of tweet around with little concern for their safety. The beaver and moose all go about their business, chewing quietly, watching intently, but not worried. This is when we know we have to lean heavily on our elders. This is when we know the person is carrying a lot with them. Emotion seeps from under their gear, thoughts wrinkle their foreheads. Their steps are quiet, but heavy. They echo through our network, and our concerned youngest carries them to the oldest of the oldest, where we rush the worries, the concerns, the sadness up through our topmost parts, up into the sunshine where the breeze can take them away and the sun can shine light. Our bottommost parts work at carrying what they can through our intricate passageways to a stream or lake, where the burdens will be fuel for our scaled friends, which then feed our feathered and furry friends, and so on the cycle makes for a wild wildlife.

Few people know we’re here for literal pain relief. We blend in. Bring on wonder and awe sometimes, particularly when we’re all adorned in our gold attire. But mostly we’re just passed through, a camouflaged version of serenity. This was the case for the young woman who just passed on through, following the rules we all set forth, quietly and calmly making her way through all of us. The younger passed along the warning. This lady felt like she was carrying around a particular trauma, one that the younger of us are just not yet prepared for. The elders sent calming waves through. “We’ve got this. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Trauma is ubiquitous, sadly, after all.” The young have much to learn.

Lady eventually made it to one of our fallen and was overtaken with grief. Quite literally falling to her knees, bending over the fallen, decomposing of us, and sobbing uncontrollably. “Why? Why?”

Our work is a silent work, usually, but we can influence our furry and feathery friends to help pass along messages. Messages of: “Leave your pain here.” or “It’s all good, really.” The older we are, the easier it is for us to activate the forces of nature to relieve our people. This is what I did next. I sent one of my bird friends out of cover, where it was hiding, to greet Lady. Bird popped its head out of its tiny abode, which was part of our fallen. Bird brought the tiny heads of Bird’s babies, all of which immediately started chirping away. Not in a defensive action. Not startling Lady. Lady instead watched in awe as Bird and babies soothed her tears as if to say: “Why? This is our home now.”

I next summoned Chipmunk. Chippy, as I like to say, scittered it’s way up to Lady, sat on its hind legs, held its tiny paws up to its chest, and joined in on the chirping. This song Chippy was singing with Bird and babies brought a tiny smile to Lady, as if to say: “The fallen fall, but they live on in a different way. This is my home now too.”

Then I summoned my network. “Let the wind blow in such a way that the breeze reaches Lady. Let Lady know that her pain can both exist but also not. That it can be washed away with nature,” I say.

And we did just that. As a team we let the breeze wash through us, letting our parts all rustle, letting the sun beat down through and onto Lady. Lady lifted her face towards the beam of sun, closed her eyes, and let the wind dry her tears, as if to say: “Things ebb and flow. Nothing is forever. Feel it, know it’s not permanent, and heal.”

With that, Lady continued her journey, passing through, brushing our youngest with a bit of a lighter touch, standing in awe at the height and strength of our eldest, nodding a small thank you to our fallen.

We all have our place in this grand network of nature, and ours is to ease pain. To stand strong, as one, as a foundation for the troubled to visit and leave behind their burdens.

We are the Aspen Stand.

After writing this I felt compelled to put this symbolism to work in the form of a token. I tried earrings, but won’t be listing them right away. They’re an option if you direct message me. Otherwise, I have a magnet or pocket token now available in my Etsy shop for sale. The design is by me. I then laser-engrave, hand-paint, and seal on-demand.

Notes from Jess

I started this exercise feeling no inspiration. I finally blindly chose a vintage postcard and decided I’d give it 30 minutes to try and come up with a concept. The postcard I pulled out was sent in the ‘50’s and is an image of St. Mary Lake, Glacier National Park. I’ve never heard of this place, so I started Googling it. In and of itself, not much was coming to me, but I latched onto this idea that it had Aspens. Not entirely sure what an Aspen was, I started down the trek of Googling Aspen trees.

I landed here.

It turns out Aspens are clones of one another and all intricately connected through a root system such that even if you cut them all down, they’ll come back up.

Aspens also contain salicylates, which are chemicals similar to aspirin.

I felt compelled to pull together a story from the perspective of a tree, and the burdens we put on nature to fix our issues, and lean on it for mental health. I’ve been reading a lot of Buddhist philosophy of late as well, and can’t help but think of the cycles of life, the movement of our energies through the world, and how we’re all so intertwined, but also completely unaware. I’ve also been overwhelmed by this concept of trauma in every day life but also impermanence. How nothing is forever, but we expect to be, and thus we suffer.

All of these emotions were running through me as I wrote the above, trying to make sense of nature, trauma, emotions, and so on.

Below is a photo of the postcard that kicked this story off. If there are any issues with copyright, please email me using my About page.

The postcard, sent from WY in 1952 to Philadelphia.