The Angel Oak
Recently I spent a week in South Carolina visiting my children and grandchildren.
One of the places we visited was the Angel Oak.
She is estimated to be over 400 years old.
As I lay beneath her enormous branches, looking up through the canopy of leaves, I couldn't help but feel her presence. Her limbs stretched in every direction, some reaching toward the earth before rising again, creating a living cathedral unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I closed my eyes.
And I listened.
Not with my ears.
With my heart.
The message wasn't complicated.
It wasn't loud.
It was simply...
Be.
Nature has no timeline.
No deadlines.
No endless list of things to accomplish before the day is over.
Nature doesn't wake up wondering if she's productive enough.
She simply lives.
She simply is.
The Angel Oak has stood through storms, droughts, hurricanes, generations of people, wars, celebrations, births, and goodbyes.
She has never hurried.
She has never compared herself to another tree.
She has never worried whether she was doing enough.
She simply continued growing.
One season at a time.
One ring at a time.
One day at a time.
As I lay beneath her branches, I thought about my recent automatic writing.
Again and again, my guides have gently reminded me that there is no rush.
That urgency is something my ego and society have taught me—not nature.
They've invited me to notice what the land, the animals, and my own body are showing me.
To watch the cats nap.
The dogs rest.
The sheep graze.
The chickens scratch.
The forest grow.
None of them are rushing.
None of them are worried about falling behind.
They are simply living.
And perhaps that is wisdom.
Nature doesn't teach by giving lectures.
She teaches by embodying.
By living and being.
The Angel Oak didn't tell me to slow down.
She showed me.
Without saying a word.
What the Angel Oak Taught Me
One of the most beautiful realizations I've had over the past few weeks is that nature isn't trying to become anything.
She already is.
Perhaps that's why being in nature feels so peaceful.
No one is trying to prove their worth.
The trees aren't competing.
The birds aren't worried about tomorrow's to-do list.
The flowers don't bloom faster because someone told them they were behind.
Everything unfolds in its own perfect timing.
My guides recently asked me how slowing down feels.
Whether I am still fulfilled.
They reminded me that all will come in good time, that there is no rush, and no amount I have to get done. They invited me to watch, wait, observe, and listen—to trust that what is meant to unfold will do so when the time is right.
Lying beneath the Angel Oak, I realized she had been teaching the very same lesson for four centuries.
Not through words.
Through her presence.
Maybe that's why nature feels like home to me.
She isn't asking me to become someone else.
She is gently reminding me that I have permission to simply be.
You May Be Wondering...
Can trees really teach us?
I believe they already do.
Not because they are trying to be our teachers, but because they embody the qualities many of us have forgotten. Patience. Presence. Trust. Resilience. Quiet strength.
When we slow down long enough to truly be with them, they remind us that life isn't meant to be rushed.
Like the animals, the plants, and every living being in nature, they invite us to return to our own natural pace.
Perhaps the greatest wisdom the Angel Oak shared with me was this:
There is nowhere to hurry to when you are already exactly where life is happening.
May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.
