Bodhi tree

This is the actual Bodhi tree from Buddha's story. Well, actual is a longer story. This is what I know. That the original Bodhi tree lived and grew and was where Sidhartha Gautama sat some 2500 years ago. At least one piece of it was cut off and sent to some faraway kingdom in Sri Lanka. Then the original was killed in 600 C.E. A cutting from that other cutting was sent back and was planted in the same spot, perhaps around 620 C.E. My friend, who gave me this photo, and a leaf from the tree, said this is it. However, the web tells us that there was a British archeologist (Cunningham) who, in the 1860s and 1870s, found the tree at first decaying and then wholly dead -- though seeds from the tree had sprouted in its decay (how fitting!).

There is a shrine built around it: the Mahabodhi temple in Bodhgaya, India. This is what wikipedia says about it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodhi_tree and here is more:
http://www.angelfire.com/electronic/bodhidharma/bodhi_tree.html

No one is allowed to pick leaves. One has to wait til they fall. The leaf I have sits on my altar and acts as a tactile connection to this long lineage to Buddha. Many objects sit on my altar. They are symbols which, at the end of each sitting, I express my gratitude. To my daughter (represented by a whimsical praying penguin she once formed out of clay for me). To my son (who fashioned a detailed sitting Buddha). A nearly whole sand dollar, the soul of the Pacific Ocean (source of adolescent solace). Stillness, that I know to seek this even when I may not actually get there. Fatima's hand, for looking out on my behalf. Ganesh, remover of obstacles. A gold medallion given to me by my Aunt Ruth, for treading the path before I came along. Englightment, in the form of a sitting Buddha, light emanating, for existing though I may never grasp or come near. Gratitude, in the form of a rock cairn, that I find a way to be thankful each day in my life. Lit candles, for Mystery which goes before me and before us all. A beaded bracelet given to me by a woman in the Bush in Kenya -- adventure in connection. A glass jelly jar full of agates, the jar from my great grandmother, the agates from my aunt, representing the way my family grounds and holds me. Two statues: one of serenity, one of suffering. They used to sit apart, on either side of the altar, as if they were separate. But they are not separate, are of one cloth, and so they sit on one side, ruining some false symetry. They are the last object to which I say my ending thanks. "Thank you serenity/suffering, who are one, who are."