My meditation cushion sits before a tall rectangle of a window that stretches from floor to sloped ceiling in my upstairs office. Here I sit through all kinds of outer and inner weather, usually in silence, occasionally in song.
In this morning’s meditation, my eyes open of their own accord to an autumn scene. A wind has come up, and I watch as a backyard elm offers its leaves, sunlight shining golden through them, to the breeze. I watch for a few moments as leaves swirl to the ground, and then close my eyes once more. The tree stays with me, though, offering itself as teacher.
Thoughts arrive, but they are leaves to me now, and I give them to the larger current. Until I find myself roughing out a mental draft of this blogpost, with autumn tree as metaphor. I stop, allowing that collection of words to drift to the ground, as I open again to that vivifying force that fuels both my life and the elm’s. I settle back into stillness.
And then I wonder what I’ll make for dinner. After some brief menu planning, that topic too drifts away. Anxiety for the condition of our world comes next. After getting snagged by this one for a few long moments, I remember the tree and let go again. Then a client appears, one whose pain is sharp and biting. After offering this woman to unseen, benevolent others for holding and blessing, I release again. And so it goes, one thought or image or feeling after another.
One common misconception about meditation is that it is a time when one’s mind is devoid of thoughts. In reality, minds are seldom empty for long. In meditation, we simply practice letting our thoughts drop away, like leaves in autumn. In this way, we hope to learn to let go of things, both small and large, as life requires, and to do so with grace.
Gradually we come to trust that, beneath it all, a stillness abides. Like the tree who knows itself anchored in the sweet, life~giving Earth, again and again we learn that we too are anchored in that which endures, in that which sustains.
Is it really so easy for trees to let go of what has already served its function, or do they hold on tenaciously until they can hold on no longer? Perhaps all living things stand at the divide between clinging to and letting go. But that is a thought to savor for a while and then let drift away, too. For no matter the inner experience of elm or aspen, oak or maple, through these trees, autumn offers lessons of release.
May we, like our tree kin, generate with our whole being the foliage that is our life. And then when the time is right, may we release those leaves, returning them to that larger current that holds us all.
Blessings on all your leaves...as they unfurl and as they drift to the ground.
4 comments:
Love it!! I totally relate.
Big smile! Thanks for reading and for writing!!!
Your autumnal essay once again melted right in with my recently lived experiences. In this case not during meditation, but while on a 2-day biking tour with my husband last week. We were engulfed, surrounded, overwhelmed with leaves as we plunged into a deep ravine and then up through dense woodlands on a narrowing path, rather suddenly realizing that our trusty e-bikes were often hitting grapefruit-sized stones hidden beneath a foot-high carpet of freshly fallen leaves just beginning to turn crisp and brown. After several near-misses and treacherous off-balance moments, we wisely decided to dismount and push our bikes through such sections. I was struck by the sounds we made as we progressed: swish-crunch, crackle-swish, shush shush. The rotation of the tires, now at a wisely slow pace, mixed with the soft thud of our footsteps. At this point we actually lost our way, when bike route signs simply disappeared and we were confronted with equally promising forks in the paths ahead. We decided to choose "uphill" as our only criterion, and what a relief to simply let go of all control and follow a simple rule. Uphill will generally lead out of the woods and into some open field, at least in this part of southern Germany. And so it did, eventually, after numerous mini-adventures and false turns.
We swept downhill along a field path strewn with late golden leaves into the next little town, where we found a cozy inn for the night. Outside the hotel door in a little open space was a large elm tree, around its base a beautiful pile of leaves that had obviously been the source of children's play in the afternoon …
Somehow your essays always speak to me and I feel "in conversation" with you!
More tree and leaf wisdom, indeed. "What a relief to simply let go of all control", while keeping one's wits, holding to a general sense of felt direction, and saying yes to those "numerous mini-adventures and false turns". A metaphor you have now offered to all of us to remember during our own tours through parts unknown. Thanks for keeping the conversation going!
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