For Giving

our essence ikar

returning to who we are

imperfect and good

life is for giving

 each precious breath a small death

emptied into ONE

It is taught that Yom Kippur is a rehearsal for our own death, a rehearsal for our own death. Walking outdoors this introspective week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, observing my own heavy heart, I’ve also witnessed the world that is turning, making its own t’shuva, weeds bowing and drying, dying, the exquisite ballet known as autumn. Observing the woodlands and bogs preparing for winter’s silence and rest, a new awareness awakened in me; nature is for giving. Two separate, and intimately connected words; “for” “giving.” I don’t mean this in a gluttonous, exclusively for human consumption sort of way, no. I’ve watched seeds on fine silk tassels drifting aloft through azure skies, gifts from mother plants they were once attached to; one by one set free, released, they have stopped clinging- after all, they are for giving. Trees are spontaneously disrobing. Have you been awed as I have been by the graceful descent of crimson, gold and russet leaves as they pirouette in descent to the ground? Have you noticed the crunch and squish of nuts, berries and fruits generously surrendered for the benefit of squirrels, chipmunks, birds and other creatures to gather and eat, right beneath your feet?  This bounty is for giving and will sustain these animals through the cold months to come. Some nuts will not be eaten or stored in nests; instead they will be shrouded, buried in foliage and earth. With rain, snow, sun and time, the destiny of some will be to form roots in the darkness below, part of the process of becoming new plants two seasons from now. As the fruits are eaten and the animals digest what they need, more seeds will be scattered and later implanted into the soil perhaps to arise anew in spring. A strand of each mother tree or weed, her DNA, a fiber of her ikar, her essence is breathed nasham, planted, like a thread from the fabric of her “soul,” neshama, gossamer as silk tasseled seeds drifting aloft through azure skies, becoming part of something larger through the generous act of giving, releasing, letting go, not clinging to the habit of what she appeared to be on the surface, offering a part of herself to the expansive flow of ALL BEING; exhaling, dying, giving, inhaling, receiving, life sown anew.

To listen to these words and a bit more offered as a meditation practice visit Minucha B'Lev and click on the minuchablevyomkippur mp3 link.

g'mar chatima tova~ may you be sealed in the book of life

I will be offline again but will return:-)