I've had this discussion many time:
Friend: "You're an Atheist, you don't understand what 'sacred' means."
Me: "But I do, every tree I see is sacred."
Like the Lorax, I speak for the trees. Sacredness is readily available, not in an old and tired symbol from the Bronze Age, but right here in front of us. Life giving, carbon sucking trees. I don't hug trees, not at least until I get to know them. Even then, only after I have their permission.
But seriously, I am not the only person of this ilk. The idea of trees being sacred goes way back to Egyptian, Asyrian and Norse Mythology as well as Celtic, Germanic and Hungarian folklore predating many of our major religions. But I don't get my inspiration from these sources. Mine comes from personal experience. I grew up in a miserable town where they hated trees. Trees were hard to find and were talked about as if they were a nuisance.
Dramatization from my youth:
Neighbor 1: Whatcha doing his weekend?
Neighbor 2: Removing that darn tree in my yard. I'm sick of it cracking the pavement and having to pick up those damn leaves?
Neighbor 1: You smell that? The stink in this city is getting worse all the time
Neighbor 2: And hot as hell as well.
It didn't occurs to them that their hatred of trees, the stink and outrageous heat in the city were related. Luckily, I spent most of my summers of my youth in southern Rhode Island on the bank of a river not too far from the Atlantic. I got to know plenty of trees. I climbed a tiny oak to get away onto the roof of our family cabin to be alone, another two older oaks held my hammock where I escaped into books or several moored my boat as I adventured onto land. Trees were great hiding places, behind or among the branches. I can't imagine a childhood without them. If I believed in magic, it manifest itself as a tree.
I look to literature for the spiritual. For the scientific minded, spiritual is just a word we use to describe the flush of emotions (aka chemicals reacting) that happen when something spectacular happens, when a connection is made. In this particular case, in a book. Trees as a symbol are all over literature. You can start with the Old Testament, Adam and Eve chomping at the Tree of Knowledge. I think more of contemporary references like Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, Herman Hesse's Trees and Siddhartha, W.B. Yeats or the marvelous ents in Tolkien' trilogy The Lord of the Rings whose slow and persistent power help usher in the age of humanity ... and of course, Dr. Seuss.
Usually, a tree is a symbol of growth but not always. In To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee has the two children, Scout and Jem, use a tree as a conduit for communication with Boo Radley, the local recluse and scapegoat. They put mutual gifts in a knothole, but when the hole is cemented shut it quickly becomes a symbol of intolerance and injustice which is the greater theme of this masterpiece.
I just finished reading Betty Smith's classic A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The tree in the title is called a tree of heaven, really, that is actually the species name. It is an invasive species originally from China which is apropos for immigrant laden Brooklyn. Anyone that grew up in the Northeast US would recognize it. Check out this factsheet: Tree of Heaven. Nothing kills this thing which it why it grows so well in cities. Not only is it a symbol of growth but it is one of resilience and strength. It is probably the only symbol in the book. It grows through cement. The narrator is third person omniscient so we get to hear, Francie Nolan, the main character's thoughts on the tree. It "likes" the poor which describes her family and everyone she knows. Something is radical about this tree. Its leaves make "fugitive patterns" on her white pillow case. Francie says this about the tree after someone calls it a "homely thing:"
"If there was only one tree like that in the world, you would think it was beautiful, but because there are so many, you just can't see how beautiful it really is."
This is a coming of age novel but it is unlike the many that come before it that it is often compared to. Little Women and Anne of Green Gables. It takes place in the gritty world of Brooklyn in the 1910's. This is a world of spousal abuse, alcohol overdoses, pedophile doctors, foot-fetish dentists and animal abuse. This is a not a pretty world Smith is painting. To make it even worse, their neighbors are mean. Poverty means you are cold and hungry and sometimes you have to do things you regrets to survive. Like the tree, you adapt.
Chapter Ten is the last mention of the tree until the very end of the book, 46 chapters and over 300 pages later. Spoiler: on the last page of the book she tells us that the tree was cut down because it was causing problems with the clothes lines, but a new tree is growing. Another generation gives us hope. They survive however stupid our priorities are.
Before I end this, let me introduce you some trees in my yard. First off, we have the Big Ass Sugar Maple. I took a picture of this tree everyday for a year and made a movie out of it:
These two were transplanted from my backyard to the front where I am trying to create a forest to replace my lawn. As you can see, the one in the front is not doing so well and may not make it. But the other one was like this for at least a couple of years before it finally caught on so I am waiting for this baby to shine.
One of these from the backyard is next to be transplanted:
And here is what the yard looks like in the winter:
Just lovely. I love these trees.
