What is Truth? Post-Christianity and Metaphysics Pt 4

Hello Everyone,

This week I'm visiting Scotland. We had a night on the coast before heading to Glasgow, then three nights in the Highlands, two nights in a bothy here in Inverlonan, and a final night in Glasgow.

I’ve wanted to visit this part of the world for so long. I've seen pictures, heard the legends, read the folklore, and now I am here where seeing is believing when it comes to this sort of breathtaking beauty.

The Highlands have long been famous for their majestic landscapes. But also for their legendary folklore that has not only been told by Scottish sages, but whispered by the trees, moors, and glens. Right now I am siting at my window in a bothy. I am looking out at dozens of ancient oaks. They are covered in moss and just starting to bud. They look asleep. They also seem aware, though they rest. They seem wise and connected to each other. I have experienced many different nature locales throughout my travels. This is truly the first time the trees seem to be breathing. There is a cadence to the wind and a rhythm to the babbling brooks.

I’m no nature girl. So many say they feel most refreshed in nature. I have never had such an experience, admittance, or desire. But here—it is almost alarming. My heart beats a little faster staring at the oaks as they sway ever so slightly in the wind. One tree dances, the other yawns. One laughs, the other sighs. One has a smirk and one gives a cheeky wink to its neighbor. This all as they enact their secret on an unsuspecting trespasser once more, me.

Being in a place like the Highlands and writing on metaphysics—it has me thinking. It is so easy to see why humans for millennia have placed loyalties in unseen worlds. There are clearly places on the planet that speak so loudly to…well…more. The obvious conclusion is that there has to be more than just the ‘seen’ world. One might say, “Look what I can feel! Look what I can sense! Look what I can imagine!”

It is easy to see how metaphysical and supernatural realities were curated as beauty gave way to magic, storytelling gave way to folklore, and love gave way to a generous and hospitable imagination.

And while a healthy and heaping amount of inference of the immaterial was made, we only ever had the material to confirm or deny.

Somewhere between where the branches end and the sky begins, we find all that we hope for that we know very little of.

The ancient oak—the quiet beauty.

The sensual strain, as it bends to the heavens.

Its curved trunk.

Its give.

Its discipline.

Saying so much, while saying nothing at all.

Its roaring aliveness.

Its gentle movements.

Its contentedness of just being.

Its confidence in its work.

Its patience as it prepares.

Some say all this points to another world.

Whether the fairies and nymphs of Scottish legend and myth. Or a God who authored it all, the one who lives in the sky but also walks amongst the trees.

Yet we would never have wondered as far as the immaterial had it not been for the material.

While this world might not be all there is, it is certainly all we have.

These oaks in front of me. They speak loudly but only through a brilliant softness. This sort of wisdom can only come with age and life.

I know not what the oaks are saying or what they speak of. But I do know I am happy to only go as far as the oaks.

And I would have had nothing at all had these oaks not been deeply rooted to the earth, the soil, which has richly and wonderfully held them for hundreds of years.

So what does this all have to do with the metaphysical and post-Christianity?

I guess simply, if this world and being rooted in it is good enough for these oaks then its good enough for me.

They have been standing for centuries, yet never revealing their secrets.

This is the life I want, too.

To live in the face of all the secrets never to be revealed, yet receiving enough impartation from the beauty all around me, throbbing with secrets, ghosts, magic, mystery, majesty, and mayhem to keep standing, breathing, and every once in a while share a wink and a smile with all I don’t know, and never will.

Until next time,

Your Maria