The dry leaf scrapes across the sandstone reflecting the approaching death that frees us to fly more easily in the air. We release the weight of excess earth and water, and we are lifted by the slightest breeze or thought to soar and gain a different perspective from that which we knew much earlier.
Dangers faced by the dry leaf are going too high so that it disconnects forever, or alternatively, catching fire from the tiniest spark and being incinerated instantly to the ash of invisibility without leaving a trace behind except cellular memory to feed the next life, which is fine if that was the purpose—there is no shame in being the nutrients for another life’s expression. Just know and be aware of what is happening; don’t be asleep to possibility and who you are ensouled to be.
Fly and land, fly and land, sometimes skipping across the surface of where others have walked or grown; sometimes flying above for the broad perspective and distant travel to a land in a forest where none of the other leaves look like you and they are heavy, wet, as they contentedly decay into the thick humus of the forest floor and invite you to join them, all glumpied together until it becomes impossible to see where one ends and another begins in the “communion of subjects”*—is this your purpose? To be one with them? Look at all the good that they do! All the nourishment they provide for community diversity! Or will you thank them and lift a brittle edge to fling yourself upon the next zephyr and fly out of the forest to see the next land and spread the word of the previous community? Off you go…wheeeeee!
What’s that vast expanse of blue below? A mirror of the sky and your slender soaring form? A fish leaps out of the smooth surface and as soon as it disappears a bird dives after it to emerge an instant later swallowing the fish. The bird calls out to you a warning not to land on the liquid mirror unless you are ready to stop traveling, for the water will quickly saturate you, and you will sink to the muddy bottom to become food for the lake creatures. Are you ready? Or is there more to see and share?
Your edges are getting ragged and torn; you even have a few holes in your cloak punching through the veins of your fragile skeleton. But, no, not quite ready and so you call to the wind for a ride and climb once more…high, higher.
There is a snow-capped peak of a mauve mountain that beckons with its swirling mist of white flakes and its song serenades you like the sirens of old on oceans of past lives. There!That’s it. That’s where your purpose lies. To fall apart in bits and scatter yourself upon the edge between forest and alpine tundra, there at the timberline edge where you can see both sides and rest in the unknowing of self, at peace. Your bits will continue to scatter themselves over the entire mountain and beyond so that you are disbursed invisibly, only the most minuscule bit disintegrating and then integrating here and there.
Your essence scattered, nothing intact, gone from sight yet everywhere, back to mingle with the stardust of your origin that wasn’t one at all for there is no beginning or end, only transformation.