How I Met Ratatosk

There are moments in life when even the strongest trees seem easier to lean on than other people.

This was one of those moments.

I stood in the forest with my arms around a pine tree.

Not because I had suddenly become one of those people who hug trees.

At least that is what I told myself.

The truth was simpler.

Life had become difficult to understand.

My relationship had ended.

My finances were uncertain.

I had no real home.

No clear direction.

No map.

And after years of searching for answers in books, courses and conversations, I found myself standing in the middle of a forest asking questions I could not answer.

So I did what any sensible man would do.

I hugged a tree.

"Don't pull too hard."

The voice came from somewhere above me.

I looked up.

Nothing.

Only branches.

Wind.

Sky.

I returned to my conversation with the tree.

"Seriously," the voice said.

"If you pull that tree out of the ground, I become homeless."

This time I looked more carefully.

There, halfway up the trunk, sat a squirrel.

Watching me.

Not with curiosity.

With concern.

The sort of concern one reserves for people who appear capable of uprooting entire forests through emotional confusion.

"You live here?" I asked.

"Of course I live here," he replied.

"Where else would a messenger live?"

"A messenger?"

"Ratatosk."

As if that explained everything.

I had heard the name before.

In Norse mythology Ratatosk is the squirrel who runs up and down Yggdrasil, the World Tree.

Back and forth.

Carrying messages between worlds.

Between eagle and dragon.

Between what is above and what is below.

Between heaven and underworld.

Between wisdom and instinct.

Between questions and answers.

Ratatosk looked at me.

Then toward the small shelter near the lake.

The shelter where I had spent the previous night.

"I saw you down there."

"You did?"

"Hard to miss."

He tilted his head.

"You humans always believe you're hiding when you're actually searching."

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant.

But somehow I knew he was right.

That was the beginning.

Not of enlightenment.

Not of certainty.

Certainly not of having all the answers.

It was the beginning of a conversation.

A conversation that continues to this day.

A conversation about meaning.

Identity.

Direction.

And the strange journey we call life.

Ratatosk never claimed to know the truth.

He only carried messages.

Questions.

Observations.

Stories gathered from different parts of the tree.

Perhaps that is why I trusted him.

He was not trying to teach me what to think.

Only helping me discover what I already knew.

Since then I have often wondered if Ratatosk was ever really there.

Perhaps he was.

Perhaps he wasn't.

Either way, the questions he brought were real.

And sometimes a good question can change a life more completely than an answer ever could.

Have you ever noticed how life often begins to change when you stop searching for answers and start listening for the questions?

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