As autumn colors display the beauty of the seasons
The changing of the leaves are actually its passing over through this life
When you acknowledge that, death seems to make more sense.
We are born. We grow, and change. We age. Then we pass. All the while from the moment of birth we are dying.
Our cells are continually dying and are being reborn. In all evidence of life there is also death. And vice versa.
When the autumn leaves change from green to orange, red, yellow and brown, as they age and finally die, the world is privileged to witness its splendor. It's performance of death.
We view the display as beautiful and perhaps with an unconscious sense of relief that it is the leaves and eventually the tree that is passing and not ourselves.
But what we do not realize and what the tree and it's dying leaves know is that it is in death where life is at it's boldest. That in dying our true self is revealed.
Our strength and our weaknesses are bared. The greatness and fear inside of us come together and stand naked to show the world what it's made of. To announce its purpose in the swift winds of time.
And once it has tasted glory. When it has sang the song of life at its loudest and there's nothing left to give, it falls back, with eyes closed and quiet heart. Falling into unfamiliar space. Falling. And falling.
Until it realizes that it is not falling but flying. And the unfamiliar space around it is actually very familiar. It is the memories behind its memory. The first memories. Those times when it remembered something it never experienced. Where they would emerge in its dreams.
Then an all too familiar feeling will flood in and glide it to a place where the soil is composed of peace. Where joy sprouts from it and love blows through the land.
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