I thought I got there too late. My feet were placed squarely on the blacktop parking lot at one of my favorite soul places, a space I have been to recently but haven’t been to, ever, to simply be and write.
Sam and I used to come here during his home school day to collect wood and explore and we still come here so he can ride on the tire swing and we can throw rocks into the river. We have explored the area fully and know it pretty well from those moments, but I wanted to come to know this place intimately by connecting to it quietly, with my body connected to its body, my soul connected mindfully to its center.
The autumn-colored leaves I would kick away from the foot path were long gone, returned to the Earth. Their crunchy selves had surrendered completely and I had missed that process.
Then I stepped into a spot off the path, by a small stream to sit and write and I realized I hadn’t missed the process at all. I stepped onto what looked like Earth and instead, I was stepping into a pile of leaves that was choosing to merge with the soil. My choice to take a moment or two or sixty to be in a space of quiet soulfulness was graciously allowing me to become a part of the process, too.
I discovered how deeply they had piled themselves up, creating a soft sofa and pillows just for me so that I could sit upon them and experience them, their luscious returning-to-dirt-scent. They seemed to giggle as I sat down with my paper and pink notepaper and trusty black mirado warrior and started to move it, contentedly, along the page.
In that moment it was as if the leaves hugged me, welcoming my reality to rise up and meet my longing, leftover from months ago when I was in a time of profound sadness, a time when I wasn’t able to settle into their crackly, crisp newly fallen selves. Instead, I got to sit upon their softened not quite moist selves.
It was then that I heard the unsurrendered leaves, the ones still on the trees that pushed against one another, applauding my return. It is like those leaves held on, bravely, past their amber-golden time to their withered crusty selves so I could hear my message.
Divinity says, “Be with me. Trust. Follow my lead. Don’t try so hard, but do know the strategy that works best, beloved one.”
I felt an exclamation point rise up as two trucks rumbled past and the wind blew and suddenly I was aware that my stomach was telling me of its hunger.
The exclamation was part celebration as I heard the words “Beloved one!” and knew Divinity meant me.
I sat, still, for a moment, just being with the leaves and the trees and the water. I heard a frog singing her song. I smiled in gratitude.
I wrote:
Sometimes surrender comes quickly and sometimes the holding on, like the crusty withered leaves held on, is the surrender. It is in the unknowing of whether or not its right or wrong and being ok with it no matter which way the judgment or comparison lands that holds the power of truth.
Today, do I go deeper? I asked. Do I go further on the path, closer to the larger parts of the river, or did I get what I was supposed to get here, on my leaves-turning-to-dirt sofa.
I smelled the leaves below me, supporting me. I heard the wind play my ears like a drum and the grass and leaves pirouetting and doing a grande jete or many grande jetes. I watched a plane use the air as a mattress. A man with a grey covered hood covering his head and speckled deck shoes covering his feet walked silently behind my surrendered leaf throne.
SUVs and pick up trucks a stone’s throw away rumbled past, separated by steel from all this wonder right here, oh so close.
Did any of the drivers or passengers capture the bright pink of my shirt out of the corner of their eye, strikingly out of context in this place I sat, deeply entrenched in awe?
It doesn’t matter whether they do or do not, but I prayed for each of them anyway.
I realized then that although I hadn’t gone deeper on the path, I had gone deeper.
My heart was swollen with joy.
I wasn’t too late. I was right on time.
Recent Comments