Trees

The entirety of the complex of temples that makes up Angkor Wat stretches over an area that covers more than five hundred square kilometers. Some temples sit far away from the main site, strange ziggurats jutting above the landscape of the jungle with in groups of three’s or more with a strange, single-minded presence. Others cluster closer, within easy walking distance. Still others have been overtaken by the jungle and it is at one such as this where Amanda and I spend our last day.

There is an official name for the temple, but the locals just call it the "Tomb Raider Temple." Made famous by being the set for Angelina Jolie's somewhat notorious role as Laura Croft – Fantasy Woman of Every 90's Gamer – the temple is actually one of the youngest in the complex – an estimated two hundred years old. It was abandoned at the end of the last Khmer empire, and the jungle ate it.

Now it is Amanda’s and my playground. The Cambodians care about their cultural artifacts, they really do, but they also let tourists walk all over them. With the exception of a few obviously dangerous areas, visitors to the Tomb Raider Temple can climb up and down the walls, navigate through maze-like passageways, and in general do whatever they feel like as long as it doesn't involve picking up a hammer and taking something home with them – which hasn't stopped some people.

The things that amaze me are the trees. They spring from the temple with total and utter apathy at their own glacially destructive power. Roots and vines push aside stone with all the patience of implacable entropy – churning the earth, ripping apart the walls, and burying the works of man beneath their might. One particularly fine example erupts from the very wall itself, with roots hanging down like a green and brown waterfall, anchored to the earth only recently – speaking in terms of decades.

 Nature has always been my only true divinity. Since I was little it has humbled me, always in unexpected moments, and in profound ways. I love trees; there are ancient things in them and a solidness that is rooted into the very foundation of our world. Often I have found myself touching a tree and feeling as though every fiber of my being is on an alert – like I'm standing on the edge of a vast and implacable knowledge or power that my mind can only grasp at the edges of; like I'm touching the only truly real thing there is, and my brain just can't comprehend that.

The trees at Angkor Wat know of such things.

- Doug