Fall, autumn, the time of dying.
A great adventure into sleepy peace.
Winter, dormant, invites slowed paces, introspection.
Don’t flee impermanence for warmer climates,
denying death even in seasonal preferences.
All of these bodies will die.
All of them, every single one.
Birth, so celebrated, not its mess and goo and poo,
not the true transition of a mother’s aching growing, breaking body,
but the new thing, the child.
The fruits of the product of that labor.
What would it be like to celebrate the old things too, the bodies.
What would it be like to live without the denial of death?
As autumn begins and leave die on the branches
of our own beautiful green trees,
leaving them bare so that next season,
they can live again.
Let us look deeper at death, our own and the world’s own,
and learn from our witnessing that death and birth
are merely two points on an endless circle here in this world.
But life Life this is something beyond and within,
something that connects us all because it is actually what we are.
It is what is alive through every one of us.
And these impermanent days,
in these impermanent bodies are here as an offering,
to experience Life on Earth,
but they are barely a speck of dust in the totality of consciousness.