Metaphor

 

Metaphor

I have two good but intentionally unlearned friends.  One recently retired from a career in IT.  He claims that all can be reduced to zeroes and ones.  His logic is ungraspable for me.  The other retired from a career in accounting and finance.  His logic lies in debits and credits.  It’s all seemingly rational to them.   

I was an English major.  My friends attempt to reduce my education to punctuation.  I don’t agree.  To me, having a command of language is like an artist knowing how to mix and blend the colors of the palette to not only capture the essence of the object, and the ability to see even more than the essence.  I think that nature is on my side because she is always ready to offer metaphor at every turn.  Yesterday, Michelle and I hiked at a nature preserve along the Fox River known locally as “1000 Islands”.  It was on that hike that we came upon a metaphor cleverly disguised as what remains of a once-huge ash tree; the one pictured above.

The river level was still noticeably high, although two weeks ago it was at flood stage.  The park is known as 1000 Island because during normal flows, along this stretch the river splits and divides again and again, and again, creating many tiny islands.  Because the water level was so high, more than half of the stretches that are normally exposed were submerged. 

You can see in the picture that the base of this tree is still submerged under two-three feet of rushing river.  Is the tree then, not strength?  Perhaps the strength of the one still straight and tall, refusing to succumb to life or age. 

Maybe the tree is not so much strength as resilience in the face of challenge.  Or perhaps it is a vision of unmovable faith in peril. 

My eyes were first drawn to the tree because a bald eagle took flight from its apex.  The tree, for the eagle then, was sanctuary, rest. 

The tree was the ravages of age.  It stands lifeless.  Here in the time of fresh budding it is weathered gray and dry.

The tree can be either noble or victim, depending on what the author chooses to portray.

The tree is Trinity in the deeply rooted strength of the Father, the wood of the Son’s cross, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that inspired the eagle’s flight.

The one without metaphor simply walks by, seeing the world’s facial reality.  But the one who knows metaphor whose vision is refracted through the heart, sees the deeper, sees otherwise hidden truths, stops and ponders, and perhaps jots down a few lines to invite you to see the metaphor.

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan