Before a leaf falls

an invitation to silence

As autumn begins to swirl fully into action here in the northern hemisphere, I am reminded of a post I shared on my Patreon, some years back, with simply the words ’before a leaf falls’.

I shared only these four words. Nothing added. Nothing taken away. These words arrived as the briefest of poems, fully formed. 

Not a concept for a poem, not a longer line edited down. Simply arriving in the here and now, as they were/are. “As it is” as my Zen teacher would say.

A few days later, I welcomed a new patron on Patreon. I wrote to him, to thank him for his support. I was happily surprised to receive his response, sharing how deeply this brief poem had touched him, and how he had shared it with others.

The patron is a pastor — he had shared the poem with a group at his church.

Last night I led a small interfaith group at my church in a time of contemplation and sharing on your poem, “Before a leaf falls”.

There was deep sharing (primarily memories of hurricanes and a loved one's death) and recognition we had only touched the very, very surface.

I will be meditating upon this poem on my own as well. There is much to explore in both a Zen and Christian context.

From this exchange, followed a conversation about the power of words, and our interpretation of them, particularly in a contemplative context.

These words were not written with nature as a reference point. They were not a sketch from life. They were not trying to get some concept or other across. They arose, as so many of my works do, spontaneously. Hence why I never called such works poems, nor myself a poet. 

The use of those terms around my work arose because others insisted on this description, and I chose to accept it as the simplest way to explain things. The addition of the descriptor, Zen, made it into Zen poet and Zen poetry, which worked at that time for me as an expression of the nature of that work.

I wrote and asked our dear Pastor friend if I could share the story of the beautiful exchange that occurred in response to this poem, under his guidance. He not only approved, but expanded on the story:

For me as an emotional being it captured the notion of letting go and the decisions or events that propel change in our lives. 

As a Christian pastor, it reminded me of the sacred moment, when the universe holds its breath just before a wafer (host) or bread, representing the Body of Christ is broken; and of rejoining God when leaf yields to become soil, yet again. 

From Zen, it reminded me of the temporary nature of all things, especially manifestations of self that mask the oneness of ultimate reality.  "Form is emptiness; emptiness is exactly form.  

When our contemplation group reflected, they shared stories: A man in his 70s remembered, for the first time in decades, being frightened in a storm as a 7 year old in Hawaii. A biologist remembered that deciduous trees seal off capillaries before each leaf falls, to preserve the tree. A woman remembered being in a hurricane and rain flying through an open window. A daughter reflected on her aging mother's journey towards death (and her own emotions about this, as well as unspoken thoughts about her own life). Another remembered being with her mother as she passed just a few months ago, and in the role of grace and forgiveness.  

As I write to you, the fires in Sonoma, Napa, and Anaheim CA continue to burn fiercely. Lives are lost, possessions go up in flames...and yet so many are spared.  How frail life is...how we cling to our illusions...  In one leaf, all Creation buds, grows to fruition, changes, and lets go…

I have been so deeply touched, by the sharing that occurred in response to these four words, in particular, by the way the Pastor responded to them, carrying them to others, and into his contemplative work within his church.

How frail life is indeed, and how we cling to our illusions. 

The four words that began this journey, resulted in this deep sharing, and one that will continue to reverberate through not only this church community, but also all who may be touched by the ripples that move out from such an event into the community, families and friends of those present. 

Such is the gift of poetry. Such is the gift of contemplation. Such is the gift of our potential to see more deeply than just the surface meaning of words, but into the source from which they arose. 

This is Buddha, Christ, Truth, Reality, Source, God, call it what we wish, it is the One Truth, the Source from which all phenomena arise, from which all phenomena are fabricated.

I just wrote many more than four words, in order to express the same thing.

Before a leaf falls.

Next time you hear a few words, or read them, take them deep into your heart, contemplate them, hold them lightly, and truly hear them. 

For each ear, for each heart, something different, yet the same will be heard, touched and shared.

---

Join me for silent sitting on Sundays at The Silence. Support Silentium as a paid subscriber, becoming a patron, or making a donation. Explore my other offerings at ando.life.