My teacher the crabapple tree
Back cover
One autumn day, a magical portal opened before Mauricio Tolosa. The Japanese apple tree growing quietly in the backyard of his home, nestled at the foot of the Andes, caught his eye—an invitation, as both photographer and writer, to cross into the Plantae Kingdom.
Guided gently, he learned to read and listen to the subtle signs, rhythms, and cycles of this master tree. “Watching its buds unfurl, feeling its fragrance like a soft mist, and resonating with its energy became ways of nourishing and reawakening dormant parts of my being,” he confesses.
A new sensibility toward his garden—and the plants, trees, and living beings within it, as well as toward himself—is recorded in this travel diary. Here, jasmine, lush weeds, a spirited lemon tree, mystical hummingbirds, and elusive slugs all breathe alongside solemn larches and jacarandas.
The apple tree calls us to grow trees anew, to return to nature’s rhythms—the seasons, buds, and fruits, the falling leaves and blossoms—and to marvel at a world that pulses far closer than our deafness to the green allows us to perceive.
Comment by Jordi Lloret — Writer, Poet, Cultural Activist
An old Japanese apple tree becomes the protagonist of this novel.
A philosopher discovers, in the courtyard of his old house, his “garden of gratitude.” He sees patterns in the apple tree’s scab. He watches pollen-soaked bees emerge. He meditates in the posture of the 5,000-year-old Grandfather Larch.
A book from Urano publishing, beautifully edited in Chile—from the southern edge of the planet.
It is a journey to the heart of the Plantae world. By attuning to its vibrations, by meeting others—plants, trees, birds—you witness the birth of Andean hummingbirds, moving from wonder to cultivation.
And those magnificent tizanas brewed between sudden encounters with a nearby universe I had never seen, never felt.
Mauricio’s Arborecimiento sprouts across forty courtyards—or chakras—composing his will to escape the failure of the Mental realm.
A grower of haikus, a photographer of invisible nests.
With simple, friendly oral writing—nourishing and eco-poetic—as heard at the Cultural Center of Las Condes, after he planted an apple tree there: “son of my teacher.”
He relearns how to communicate with the earth and its elements.
And in a tone both tragic and humorous, he speaks of saving ourselves as a species.
It can also be read as a diary.
A book in the astonished first person.
A journey into the interior of Mauritian trees; Alice crosses the mirror and speaks, vibrating with beings, colors, scents, and gardeners.
A major contribution to the depths of planetary searches for the here and now. A planet in agony, driven mad by speed, digital and plastic individualism. Without calm, without respite.
Overwhelmed by technology and tragic neoliberalism. Ravaged by plague and tithe, greed, war, pesticides.
The leaves and ears of the medlar tree laugh in devastation. The hummingbird’s song draws inner horizons. The thrush listens to the silkworm, seconds before metamorphosis.
A nomad stirred at the origin of his Plantae being—months spent in the green womb.
I call him a philosopher because reading him brings me back to the ancient wisdom of the Mapuche, men of the land. He reminds me of Praise to the Earth by Korean philosopher Byung-Chul Han, who moves from Korea’s open wound to Berlin’s scar. Like Mauricio, he chooses to create and recreate a garden.
He sketches plants and adopts Mother Nature’s slow rhythm. From there, he deconstructs being and time.
Like Argentine philosopher Rodolfo Kusch, who discovers “being” in silent conversation with nature—it becomes his center. He leaves behind the urban “being,” one of eight billion failures.
I write to my friend, the writer, who now looks at the Amazon from above, where he has built his vibrant ruka—both apprentice and teacher.
Brave and honest, he dives into the word and offers us an analog book in digital times.
A book that could have been shorter.
In cultivating the haikus of Bashō and others, he quietly warns us: this book, chronicling his entry into the plant world, could have been even briefer. But he chose to share his learning—and it is deeply appreciated.
Mauricio Tolosa, my third Amazonian teacher.
Jordi, a mixed-breed bird.
Comment by Cecilia Montero — Sociologist, Writer, Author Encounter with Other Kingdoms
It is typical of our species—humans—to rush toward solutions when something goes wrong. In French, there’s an expression: fuite en avant (“flight forward”), describing a state of acceleration in which, without reflection, we repeat the same actions, avoiding the real issue. This characterizes our times of economic crisis and climate collapse. While a handful of tycoons build bunkers or ships to escape to another planet, others consume compulsively in a kind of carpe diem, enjoying the moment while they can.
But there is more. People, groups, communities have long been cultivating new ways of living—far from the economy, anchored in the earth. Convinced that our obsession with mental and technological solutions is part of the problem, they have opened their eyes, feet, and hands to reinsert themselves into the material, animal, and plant worlds. The paths are varied: scientists and anthropologists have shared discoveries about animal behavior, tree communication, and the possibility of listening more attentively to the language of the earth in all its manifestations.
There are also individual paths, like that of philosopher Byung-Chul Han, who shares with his readers the garden as a space for daily meditation.
And many other testimonies speak to the benefits of connecting more intimately with the animal and plant kingdoms. It is a movement from the human toward the non-human—a one-way relationship, without dialogue.
A notable exception is the experience of Mauricio Tolosa, who has entered into a two-way conversation with the plant kingdom. In his recently published book My Teacher, the Apple Tree, he shares experiences that go beyond gardening and contemplation. With a carefully honed style, he conveys the gradual process of approaching a tree, a plant, a flower—inviting us to listen to him as the protagonist of a transformative encounter. A mystic and poet, Mauricio has deeply developed what he calls logos—mental reasoning—while warning us that reason alone cannot open conversations with other realms.
Through Mauricio’s reflections, we learn much: his experiences with plants, his doubts, his self-criticism, and above all, his ability to communicate—in a paragraph or a haiku—his unique way of conversing with his master tree, the apple tree. Whether observing changes in its bark, its desire to reproduce, or its particular vibration, he listens.
Perhaps the most valuable aspect of this poetic testimony is its subtle, indirect way of showing how we have acted within ourselves—“pruning” our capacities, just as we prune a fruit tree. Without resorting to clichés or distant theoretical concepts, Mauricio conveys the painful illness of living disconnected from nature. We must stop analyzing, separating, controlling, and fleeing—and instead inhabit the present. A marvelous door opens when we attend to the signals of an apple tree, a jacaranda, a rosemary, a jasmine… until we perceive the vibration of a hummingbird hovering over flowering sage.
Cecilia Montero Paris, September 2023