One way Yi helps (from the blog)

[hilary]

One of the good things about our little rented home has always been the thick shield of trees that stands between us and the road. Great glossy green laurels, disappearing in late spring under huge white blossoms, blanketing the whole house in heavy scent. The slender, fragile-looking deciduous tree with delicate perfumed white flowers later in the year. The little ‘volunteer’ tree that sprang up by itself a few years back and reached about seven feet tall – I have no idea of its name, but its humble, berry-like little green flowers nourished ecstatic hordes of bees this past summer. Soft furry-leaved glaucous bushes. A forsythia by the gate, blazing bright yellow each March. Holly – always stripped of its berries by the birds well before Christmas.
Well, like I said, we rent, and the landlord came round a month or so back to explain that the trees needed cutting back as they were impeding some overhead wires. This had been done before – a few high branches lopped off with a long trimmer. And then yesterday morning a man came round to say he’d be ‘doing your trees’. There were chainsaw noises.
Maybe you can guess how this ends. I went outside a few hours later to find the team of workmen just finishing cutting down the second to last tree. All the rest were already gone.
I asked the men to hold off until the landlord was called to check if he really wanted the last tree cut down, and then I talked to Yi. Not with a very coherent question, as you can maybe imagine – just ‘talk to me about this’.
Yi gave me Hexagram 22, Beauty, with line 5 changing, going to 37, People in the Home.
It’s one of those readings where it was immediately clear that it was speaking to me, and less clear at first what it was saying. There was 37, the home, in the background. There was 22, a hexagram of – amongst other things – the healing power of plants. Also with 22 comes the idea of deliberate communication, making yourself easy to relate to; that was something I very much needed to do when the landlord came round, so I absorbed it as direct advice.
But the moving line?

‘Beauty in a hilltop garden.
A roll of silk: small, so small.
Shame.
In the end, good fortune.’
​

Of course I was – and am – simply mourning. But also, for some reason, I found myself saying again and again, I’m sorry, and I couldn’t understand what this was about or where it came from until I absorbed Yi’s words. This was shame.
It wasn’t just that the trees were killed, but that I had a strong connection, a relationship, with these trees; they’d given me shelter and joy for many years – and what could I give them in return? I’ve received so much, but my resources are so small, my power so ludicrously inadequate, that I have nothing to offer; I can’t even stop the chainsaw.
The fan yao, 37.5, fits in here as a background belief –

‘With the king’s presence, there is a home.
Do not worry. Good fortune.’
​

… that this should be my place, where I guarantee the safety of those who live here. When it isn’t, and I can’t, I’m ashamed.
Sometimes Yi offers guidance, and sometimes it shows you what’s happening in the world, or what you’ll find if you walk a particular path. And sometimes, as here, it simply helps me to unravel what’s going on in my own psyche. It brings some calm and a sense of perspective – especially when it quietly says,

‘In the end, good fortune.’
​

The line itself offers no explanation for this promise, but my sense of it has always been that in the long run, deep commitment is more important than inadequate resources.
Here is a picture of volunteer-tree that I took in June this year. (Click for the full-size image.) If you happen to know what it’s called, could you let me know? The bees would appreciate it very much if I could plant a replacement.

(The landlord did agree to leave the last laurel tree.)

 

[knotxx]

That is heartbreaking. I felt like screaming, just reading this. I'm so sorry.

And that's a beautiful reading of 22.5, far deeper than I've ever done, and I'm grateful to have read it.

As for the photo, I am not English so this may be way off, but could it be a lime tree? The leaves look like that, and I know bees love them. I hope you plant another soon and it grows just as quickly, that all the green comes rushing back to you.

 

[RindaR]

Yes, we are one body, losing part of oneself hurts terribly. Fierce hugs!

 

[Trojina]

I'll put @hilary; here because not sure if she knows this one is here and besides it might get sunk. I commented on the main blog - but yes took me a while to appreciate this reading, felt it needed a more immediately comforting reading, but this is the most comforting reading for this occasion which is why Hilary cast it.

….. that all the green comes rushing back to you.

yes nice way to put it :bows:

 

[hilary]

Thank you. And no, not a lime, I think - it doesn't smell like one. Since it 'volunteered' once, maybe it will regrow from the stump in spring, who knows? If not, I shall visit my tree-expert friend, stick the photo under her nose and demand she identify it.

I'm appreciating the one 'rescued' tree quite a lot.

 

[iams girl]

How drastic and impersonal ! I share your sorrow at the loss of the beauty and life of your natural shelter. In a way, your action to save at least the one tree reminds me of the starfish story. We are so limited in our ability to make a difference in the world, but truly "it made a difference for that one.” Maybe that is 22.5. Senselessness abounds and yet we hope that somehow our small actions are magnified in the greater good. May you and your surroundings be blessed with restoration and healing of this wound.

 

[hilary]

Yes - one small roll of silk, at least.

Something else that helps immensely is connecting with people here who get it. The thing is, the decision to cut the trees down wasn't taken out of any malicious intent: it was all quite rational and full of common-sense. 'Hm, that tree needs cutting back to clear the wires... and I wonder if the roots might get into the drains one day... and the tree surgeon says nothing here is particularly worth keeping... so we might as well tidy up the lot while the workmen are there.' Or something along those lines, all quite neutral and unremarkable - no evil tree-murdering monsters here. There was no logical reason for most of the felling, true (most of the growth was nowhere near either wires or drains), but no pressing reason not to do it, either...

...unless you feel any kind of connection to the trees, of course. (What Rinda said: 'we are one body'.) So much comes back to connection.