Beyond Not Seeing the Forest for the Trees

Exactly how big is the Big Picture?

The Farsighted Observer

Being farsighted, I need to stand back to see clearly. As a result, I do see both the forest and the trees. But even that’s not always the full view. And what’s hiding in the woods?

Exactly how far back does one need to stand to see the whole picture?

I am fortunate to have a view of a grassy ridge from the windows and terrace of my apartment. Yes, I have to look past a parking lot, but I mostly see foliage and even wildlife from time to time.

Visits from Bambi are not uncommon. [All photos by the author.]

In past years, property management kept the grass, wildflowers, and landscaped edges trimmed—or “buttoned up,” as my late husband, Joe, would say.

Not this year. A very wet spring and summer coupled with less trimming (possibly due to a shortage of available landscape workers?) led to abundant and somewhat chaotic growth of weeds, shrubbery, and trees.

I didn’t mind. It reminded me of an amusing story that Joe told. Growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, he and his urban playmates referred to an overgrown empty lot on his block as “The Forest.” In reality, the stretch of greenery was nothing more than a large patch of unwieldy weeds reaching tree height.

We had many chuckles together with that story—appreciating the innocent inventiveness of children making the most of whatever they had without trying to improve it. Joe and friends loved their Forest and spent many hours inventing imaginary scenarios that prompted them to go into the “woods” on one heroic mission or another.

So I called the overgrown view across from my window “The Forest” because it brought back the memory of the sweet story and how we laughed together.

The Forest from Thumper’s point of view.

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Earlier this week on my daily walk, I noticed the remains of a very squished baby mouse at the top of the drive leading to our community. I sent it blessings and continued on my way, hoping the maintenance crew would see it and remove it.

Yesterday as I walked, I saw a very live, robust adult mouse scurry across from The Forest to the shrubbery in front of my building. Suddenly visions of The Forest being home to Bambi and Thumper expanded to include nests of little rodents. Not as pretty a picture.

I don’t live on the ground floor but I wondered if those little furry animals could scale walls to the terraces on the second floor and my dwelling. I had a flash of doubt about the beauty of the wilderness outside my door vs freedom from vermin. It was only a passing thought, however, and I forgot about it by the time I got back home.

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The loud buzz of weed whackers, leaf blowers, and saws broke the usual stillness this morning. The lower branches of The Forest’s trees were being trimmed as well as the mass of tall weeds and wildflowers leading up the incline to what is a true forest beyond the crest of the ridge.

Before the trim.

The “After” view from my terrace.

I felt both disappointment and relief, but something else emerged as I gazed out my window and observed the landscape changing before my eyes.

The previous night, as I led an opening meditation for my book group, I visualized a clearing bathed in white light—a symbol of clarity.

Today, I couldn’t help but wonder…

Had I manifested this late-season landscaping as the physical representation of what I saw in my mind’s eye? Why?

With the changed physical view came a shift in perception on a deeper level for me.

I’ve been leading a rather hodgepodge method of daily activity: keeping a minimally organized schedule and enjoying freedom to skip around tasks randomly, leaving spaces of “open” time to marinate or simply be.

My approach was not dissimilar to the slightly chaotic view from my terrace.

But I was growing tired of that routine and was ready to devote more focused time to writing. Ready to begin new projects and finally complete old ones.

The clearing of The Forest seemed to have opened that pathway of understanding for me.

I had needed fallow, unstructured stretches of time to allow the seeds of unwritten ideas to germinate and grow wildly before bringing them into form as written messages.

Once I was ready to harvest some of the growth in my writing, I cleared not only the The Forest outside my window, but my inner (third-eye) vision as well.

Now I can sit in my meditation/journaling chair or at my desk and enjoy clarity of thought and view. Sometimes even the forest-view needs some space around it for the “bigger picture” to emerge.

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The Farsighted Observer’s Mission

To be the eyes, heart, and voice championing individual creative growth and expression. To support the gifts of sensitive, empathic, intuitive, and creative people.

Worldwide, many seekers are awakening to their purpose. Conscious and aware, they are coming together to accomplish great goals.

Until next time… My best, Shelley