When I enter the rainforest, their presence is palpable; the figs. Strangler figs with cascades of descending aerial roots, and buttress rooted giants. Each one a Cathedral of sentience.They hear me as much as I see them. They know I am here.
In the place where I lived for over two decades - the Sunshine Coast and Brisbane, in Queensland - they were omnipresent. In parks, along rivers, in the bush and rainforest surrounds. In Sydney, my hometown, they lined the harbour foreshores, graced Centennial Park where I was married the first time, and were dear companions in school playgrounds.
In other words, the Fig is a tree that is Totemic to me. It is part of my history - my story, part of me. Their very lines on trunks echoes the ridges and etchings on my own bones. Their tender drapery of filament-tendrils, the very semblance of my nervous system.
So. What do I see everywhere, here in my current home?
From the giants in green parks alongside Honolulu streets, to the Beings that stand in the water that fills the depressions in the park beside our studio after rain.
I see them; they enter me.
I feel Home.
Not ‘here’, or ‘there’. Not ‘other’, or ‘different’.
Forget the vast Pacific Ocean that divides the lands on which they stand, these figs of Brisbane and of my home here in Waimea Valley on Oahu.
They are simply figs.
And they remind me, that we are all the One planet. One.
That I am always Home.
They remind me, that I am always part of Wholeness.