Message for All “Hibakuijumoku”
by Jesse Greist
December 6, 2020
In our world, there are times of great stillness. A frozen winter night can be a time of stillness. Or a hot desert day. The fear of an animal when a predator is near, or the relaxation after that predator moves on, the quiet times when we rest or meditate, or the healing times when we are sick. These are just some of the many examples of the stillness that comes into our lives.
Some stillness is natural, some is unnatural. Some happens to us, some can be caused by us.
The thing about stillness is that it is never truly and fully still. When we sit quietly, our hearts still beat and the millions of cells within us quietly go about their business. When the desert sun is at high noon, lizards exhale and cacti stretch roots even further down into the sand searching for water.
In August 1945, seventy-five years ago, a massive atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, Japan, during a terrible war. This bomb was so big and powerful that it burned everything for miles around and for years after, the effects of that one act of violence stayed with people near and far. There is a story to be told about the destruction and suffering of that day, and of that war, but today, I share with you a glimmer of hope, and a story of incredible resilience which emerged from the stillness of Hiroshima after the bomb.
No one believed that any living thing had survived – not a person, not a bee, not even a blade of grass. But they were wrong. In the months and years that followed, as people slowly began to clean up, to find peace, they were deeply shocked and surprised to find that not one, not two, but one hundred and seventy trees has not only lived, but were healing and beginning to sprout leaves again!
Just imagine, in the worst, most heart wrenching stillness the world had known, there was movement in the hearts of those trees. From the outside they looked leafless and dead, their bark badly burned, but their roots somehow found nutrients and water deep underground, where the explosion couldn’t reach. The sun sent healing, live-giving energy and buds began to sprout. That particular war was over and people began to rebuild. When they discovered the miracle of the surviving trees, they created a new word “Hibakujumoku”, which literally means “Atomic bomb tree survivor” and teams of people in need of hope came forward to care for the tress. Their care continued for decades, and people continue to care for them even today.
Now, seventy-five years later, the very same ginkos, and Eucalyptus, figs and Bodhis along with the over forty species of trees that became Hibakujumoku, still live in rebuilt Hiroshima. They are strong, full of life, and their seeds have grown into peace keeping seeds in countries around the world. They teach us about life in times of stillness, about hope sprouting in the shadows of war. May they be blessed and may their lesson be ours as well. Blessed be