Pando: A Lesson in the Care and Keeping of an Idea
A Seed Takes Root
About three years ago, I came across an article about the most massive living organism on Earth. It happens to be a colony of aspen trees on the shore of a lake in Utah, all connected by a massive underground parent root system. It has a name, Pando, which means “I spread” in Latin. It started from a single seed and expanded by sending out new shoots. It has spread across 106 acres and harbors trees over 130 years old. Forty thousand seemingly separate trees that are actually one organism from one source. Pando’s life is inextricably connected to every tree in the colony. A metaphor for humanity.
I love aspen trees. Walking into an aspen grove in autumn is magical. A fluttering, canopy of golden leaves set against a deep blue sky. The whisper of the leaves in the cool breeze. The iridescent glow of sunlight filtering though the leaves and branches, scattering upon the forest floor. The shapes of watchful eyes etched in black upon white trunks. For three years, I haven’t been able to get Pando out of my mind. I wanted to describe it in a way that conveyed Pando’s message of unity and cooperation at at time when humanity’s lack of doing so threatens our relationships with each other and the very planet on which we depend for life.
Author, Liz Gilbert, has a theory about ideas. She believes they are energetic life forms that inhabit our planet, “completely separate from us, but capable of interacting with us.” She believes they have a consciousness and will to manifest themselves. They swirl around us and look for available and willing human partners. When an idea finds a person who might be able to birth it into the world – perhaps you – it will try to get your attention. It will not leave you alone, whispering in your ear, “Do you want to work with me?” If you think you aren’t the right person, or it’s not the right time, you politely decline, and the idea moves on to someone else because it wants to be realized. If you accept the idea’s invitation, you have entered into a contract with it and must see it through. Your role is “to cooperate fully, humbly, and joyfully with inspiration” to the utmost of your ability. If you don’t follow through, the idea will eventually grow tired of waiting to be realized and leave to find another collaborator.
A Sapling Emerges
This is how it has been with Pando and me. From the time I first read about it, I loved what it represented: That one of the oldest and most massive single living organisms on Earth got that way by cooperation, and that every single tree in that organism looked separate from the others, but was actually connected and born from the same source. When a tree in Pando isn’t thriving, its fellow aspens send nutrients through the root system to help it. Nature is truly amazing and a mirror for us. It teaches us how to live if we just pay attention. In recent years, the health of Pando has been declining, and scientists, volunteers, and organizations have been working together to find out why and to try to restore it to its original splendor. This, too, is a mirror for humanity. We can band together and thrive, or face our demise.
In the three years since I first accepted my contract with this Pando idea, I have never left it, although I have had to put it aside for periods of time when life happened. I promised it I wasn’t abandoning it. I asked it to stick around. I thought about it. I researched. I jotted down inspiration when it came. I wanted to put it into a story, the kind of universal story that both children and adults could share, but I wasn’t sure how. Then one day, while I was journaling, some words came through my pen, “We are family. We are one.” What flowed through after that were ideas and phrases that felt like something was taking shape. My reward for not abandoning the idea. I said, “Thank you for giving this to me.” Then life happened again, and the words sat in that journal for another year. But I held the idea in my heart. I spoke to it. Then this week, I opened my journal, and the words were still there, waiting for me. As I revisited them, it became clear: They wanted to be a poem. I wrote that poem in one evening, and to me, it ended up sounding like that universal story I wanted to share with everyone. I am sharing it here for the first time, and I am hopeful that this Pando idea will help me find a way to spread it into the world, just like its name implies. To learn more, and sign up for my monthly newsletter and blog, visit pandounlimited.com
In the Pando Sun Drifting on an autumn breeze are golden leaves of aspen trees, dancing, twisting, floating down, carpeting the forest ground. In the quiet you can hear a gentle whisper in your ear, fluttering in the Pando sun, “We are family. We are one.” Sunlight streaming, crisp and cold, through a roof of glistening gold, shimmering in the Pando sun, “We are family. We are one.” And intertwining underneath for miles and miles beneath your feet, is a secret, hidden treasure trove. The trees have eyes. They see and know. There’s magic in this Pando grove. As far as every eye can see, the members of a family, spreading in the Pando sun, for miles and miles…of many…one. For from a solitary root, each tree was born and joined by shoots, connected in the earth as one, far beneath the Pando sun. Through their roots they hear the call, “Give nourishment to one and all,” and answering, they help each other. All related, all are brothers. Sharing so they each can thrive. It takes all ages to survive. Growing in the Pando sun, “We are family. We are one.” So holds this great community of seeming individuality, a mirror for humanity: As Pando goes, so go we. I help you, and you help me. The small, the tall, the strong, the weak, joining in the Pando sun, “We are family. We are one.” Living under one big sky, collective heart, the gift of life, shining in the Pando sun, “We are family. We are one.” ©Cindye Sablatura 2021
