A meditation on fall/ing

A recurring dream I have is on falling. Stepping off a plane mid-air. Walking off a cliff. Tripping into an abyss. I used to have dreams of driving a car too fast on a winding road and veering off a cliff, falling to my death, always with a passenger: my dog, a romantic partner, a family member. The last I had was aboard a train, my dog and I slowly losing our hold on gravity as I told her everything was going to be OK.

Now, it's autumn, a time of falling leaves. Missoula is home to one of the few deciduous conifers: the larch. We recently visited Gus, the world's largest larch tree. He's up in nearby Seeley Lake, and is over 1,000 years old. But we also have other leaf droppers, including quaking aspen, black cottonwood, and mountain ash. There a mountain ash one directly outside my bedroom that puts on quite a show.

Gus the 1,000 year old larch at Seeley Lake, Montana

It's this tree that's prompted this month's meditation sequence. Feel free to find your own tree to sit near, or under, or just picture in your mind's eye. Trees, I think, are some of the most powerful creatures out there. They are connected to the ground and the sky, and to each other. They can feed and nurture one another. feed stumps, grow through fences or sidewalks, provide shelter and sustenance for multiple species without sacrificing themselves, and more. The last part is key: with this meditation, I want you to work on the feeling of providing for your community while still remaining stable and sustained yourself. It's how we live long lives, maybe not as long as Gus but at least as long as my Nana Ollie, still going strong at 101.

OK, here we go... get comfortable!

As you sit in this meditation, please do sit comfortably, in a supported position. If your brain goes in another direction, just accept that without judgment and come back to the meditation imagery. If your feet are cold, or there's a leaf blower or chainsaw outside creating noise, or people, don't be discouraged. We are humans existing as part of our environment, part of nature, part of the planet. What we do, what we experience of each other, aren't outside of nature, so hear or feel without judgment, and without discomfort. Cold feet are a part of changing weather, and our bodies eventually calibrate with bloodflow or else we put on socks. For a few moments, it's OK. Give yourself five minutes for this visualization.

Everything is both cyclical and ever changing. Imagine a large deciduous tree, perhaps a maple tree if a specific tree doesn't immediately come to mind (if you have an advanced imagination, imagine you are the tree). Allow the leaves to change to yellow, red, purple, brown, then fall. Let them collect in a blanket by its feet. Let them break down. Feel the changing temperature as the cold causes the leaves to drop, and the leaves breakdown and warm up the roots. Snow falls. Silence. The dark of short days and low sun, the glow of light reflecting and refracting in the snow. Let the snow melt. It takes its time. It finishes breaking down the leaves, which nourishes the ground below. The tree reawakens. Buds form, unroll, open — welcoming the pollinators and the returning birds from opposing hemisphere.