Leaf: From Whom We Learn and Draw Our Strength

A gentle reminder of who and what we are (and will be.)

I was given this leaf this morning.

But only for a moment.

I had stopped briefly on my walk. Taking in a space that felt particularly thin. Particularly inviting.

And the leaf came floating down from above, and I watched it, somewhat magically, gracefully swoop to and fro, as it landed by my feet.

I picked up my gift. 

I found it to be lovely. 

There’s a story here.

A wealth of colors. 

Textures. 

Fibers and cells. 

Diversity. Unity. 

There is shape. 

There are marks. Scars? Maybe scars. But I’m also not sure that’s what they are. I don’t think they’re wounds. I think it’s just evidence, markings of life and utility. This leaf has been put to good use these past months. 

It has provided shade. Shelter for who knows how many lovely creatures. Perhaps nourishment to some of our tiniest neighbors. 

The picture, as always, doesn’t do this leaf justice.

The colors aren’t as vibrant to the camera as they were to my eye.

I hate that you didn’t get to see this beauty with me. IRL. 

So much goodness and wisdom here in the parts that make up this lovely gift. 

As quickly as I could begin collecting these thoughts, however, and, more importantly, start to decide whether I was going to keep my leaf or not, a gust of wind came and blew it right out of my hand, placing it down onto the ground in the dirt. 

Into its proper place. 

It was never mine to keep. 

Even if it was a gift to me. 

That’s a tricky thing for us Americans to grasp. We tend to see everything as ours to keep. To have. To add to our possessions. 

But this is not how we’re meant to be. 

We’re meant to hold loosely. 

To share. 

To enjoy. 

But not everything is ours to take. 

I was stuck by the leaf setting on the wet dirt. 

It was preparing for transition. 

Preparing for the next phase. 

Preparing to return to the dirt, and for its parts to be rearranged, so that all its beauty could be passed along. So that’s all its potential could be snuggled up and cared for by the soil, and redistributed as gift, continuing on its eternal life in new form in the coming months. 

I think I’m beginning to understand something about this process. 

A season into the dark warmth and care of the soil. 

For my parts to be rearranged, repurposed, revitalized, for whatever I am called into next. 

I think that’s what my past four years have been about. 

A few things about that.

Firstly, it was divine when it hit me that the parts that make up this leaf are ancient. 

Eternal, even.

These parts have been in this space upon which I was standing for millennia. 

How’s that for awesome?

Holy ground.

This leaf is sacred. It is life. It is wisdom. Its parts have been witness to a vastness and richness of life and beauty and goodness that is beyond my comprehension. Just think of it… the wonder of that is most profound.

What I’m learning about myself lately, however, is that this is no different. 

My parts are also ancient and eternal.

We don’t think of ourselves this way much.

But we should. 

My life, in this incarnation, is but a vapor, yes.

Brief. 

Like the months this leaf existed on the tree.

But all that I am made of, and all that I will leave this place when my brief moment in this body is over, will live on. 

It will be taken in, snuggled by the earth, and given again.

And moreover, what I am made of in this frail body is all that has been before. I am not new. I am continuation. I am a particular incarnation of what has been before.

My parts precede me.

Which “leaves” me awestruck.

I find myself in this moment in history feeling so small. So fearful. So angry. So hurt. And oftentimes, so alone. 

But I am never alone. 

We are never alone.

Because not only do we have each other, but the beauty and strength and goodness and life and wisdom and courage of all who have been and all who ever will be are in and with us. 

We are one.

Not just in this life and moment. 

But with all that has ever been… 

And all that ever will be.

We are one.

I think this is the meaning of God, the Spirit, being in, over and through all things. 

We’re all woven together as one Love. One Life.

As we face new and scary unknowns, as we prepare ourselves to stand against powers and systems and forces that have compromised a few of us humans to bring about destruction, suffering and chaos,

May we remember what we are.

May we remember and be rooted in who we are.

We are one.

We are life.

We are love.

Our lives and stories and parts have been arranged in such a way for this moment. Life has brought us here because we’re fit for such a time as this.

Let us not fear the soil that calls us in to rearrange our parts when needed.

Let us embrace one another as one.

Let us lean into the interdependency of the beloved community. 

Let us lean into the interdependency of all the life, love, energy, strength and courage of our ancestors, and all of the life that has preceded us, and will emerge from us.

Love will win in the end.

Love will find a way.

Here’s to the leaves.

Not for us to keep.

But as a gift to us, from whom we learn and draw our strength.

_________________

Where are you finding your strength and peace in this moment? What is teaching you? Let me know in the comments! Let’s hold one another close.