The Lyrics From Ernie's Forest Chapter 432 Silence That Services Selfishness

A pocket forest. A collection of beautiful trees set inside an overcrowded human neighborhood. You can kill the trees to provide for man, but you can't steal the life out of a pocket forest? I've been in this pocket forest for 32 years and the energy grows with no way of stopping it.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
There is so much going on on arrow dot net
aarr oe dot net. If you're like me when it
comes to podcast listening, I want a variety. So that's
why we created this network Arrow dot net. We're talking sports, ya,
author's spiritual quests, even grocery store nightmares. Arrow dot net
a r oe dot Net. Enjoy your exploration. My boy

(00:23):
boy Ernie a Blue Crown conyer. For over thirty two years,
he and I have overlooked this forest right here in
South Charlotte, North Carolina. I mean every day, Ernie and
I sit here in this beautiful home, overlooking the trees,
the nearby lake, and every bit the wildlife that is
peacefully strolling on the land below. Ernie and I share
the same vision. It's this forest. We both look into

(00:46):
the trees and study the earth below. There's absolutely something
very spiritual going on here. The lyrics to Ernie's Forest,
I mean, we both receive an amazing amount of energy.
I put all of my trust in skills as a
student into what he is willing to share with me.
A bird by the name of Ernie. These aren't my words,

(01:07):
these are the lyrics from Ernie's Forest, chapter number four
hundred thirty two June fifteenth, twenty twenty four. It's kind
of odd to my heart to know that the history
of this forest is so readily unavailable to study, only
that a single family owned it, and it was once
considered to be far, far, far out into the country.

(01:30):
My soul wants to call the area a pocket forest,
almost like the landscape of North Carolina's mountains, all of
those beautiful, jagged, rocky edges with an array of trees,
plus a billion homes overlooking the scene. The same is
true about this forest, rainbow forest, all things wild, and
yet so much of it has been tamed. Maybe it's

(01:53):
just me. There's a lot to learn from allowing this
forest to just breathe. The hills rolled like that of
a true Southern accent. You'll lose your breath walking up heartbreak, heell,
and on winter mornings, Ivy Lake will take even more
air from your lungs. A pocket forest, all of this nature,

(02:13):
with the human stuff somewhere in between. I do wonder
if I'm the only one listening. How selfish is that?
I mean, the bee keeper just right over there inside
this forest, he's got to be hearing things just like me.
Why is it. We tend to be that way that

(02:33):
we locate these places of inner peace, solitude, gratefulness, and
we have this vision of growing forward. But for some reason,
we don't look outward for other people that are feeling
the same exact thing. For instance, when I visit the
Grand Tetons in Wyoming, do we ever stand around with

(02:54):
people from Norway or even Japan and we ask them, well,
what's your interpretation and what did you feel? How about
when you go to Denver, Colorado, or Atlanta, Georgia, even
when you're up in New York City at ground zero,
do you ever take the time to say, so, what
are you feeling in this moment of now? What is
your energy level clocked in at? We don't ask those questions.

(03:16):
We just assume, well, I must be the only one
that's experiencing this. How selfish is that if we don't
start sharing our individual stories, then it becomes lopsided. Here's
a better example. I come from a family of eight children.
Eight of us have eight different interpretations of who our

(03:38):
parents were. If you sit us down to ask us
questions about the parents and about the kids that grew
from them, you'll never get the same answer. It's eight
different stories. But if you don't listen to the stories,
then you're missing out on something. Not only that So
is your great great great grandchild who you'll never meet.

(04:02):
But because we didn't talk about the stories, they'll never
hear them. I Maril, these are not my words. These
are the lyrics from Ernie's Forest.