I have often mused, as many have, on the enduring and mysterious figure of Tom Bombadil, perhaps the most singular figure in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. He appears early and briefly in the first volume, and never appears again. But he is the one character in the entire tale who is not affected by the ring of power. He slips it on and off his finger with no compulsion and with no effect. He dwells beside the forest with his golden-haired bride, the river woman’s daughter. He is husband to the Goddess. He is the playful keeper of the woods. He is the ancient and formative power of the earth. He is simplicity itself, beyond the agendas of the mind. He will not acquire any fame. In fact, he does not make it into the movie!
His simple appearance, or being, has none of the urgency or self-consciousness of the egoic drama being played out across Middle Earth. He is our Buddha-mind, our Earth-mind, beyond gain or loss. In a sense, he is neutral; but his neutrality is the very blossoming and endless renewal of the green earth. His bride against his heart, his is the marriage of form and emptiness. He is the great intimacy and the great receptivity. He is the activity of the green earth. This is his song.