I love Fall. and the word Fall. and everything about Fall.
Just think, an entire season named after the act of unessential pieces perishing and falling away. Making room for new life, for the weight of winter rest, for new beginnings…
and I was born in Fall, so perhaps I have some root affinity for it in this life. Some innate call to be re-born every time Fall comes around. It's a nice story anyway, and who knows?
And the meaning of the word "fall" itself: To descend down into, or out of something. To be drawn into something… else.
To fall asleep. To fall in love. To fall away.
The exquisite beauty of this descent-ion out of one thing, and right into another.
I love the imagery and act of it.
These days, what falls for me — is untruth. Beliefs, concepts, and the old-ways-of-being that they caused, are dropping like flies around here.
Seriously people — there is a Tim Burtonesque-like 'Corpse of Sunni' that has fallen like a pile of chalky bones. And just like fall leaves, she is going back to ground.
Earth and ash have swallowed her up; entombed in the warm embrace of the living soil and substrate.
I know that sounds morose, but I assure you it's in the best possible way. And besides… it's nearly Hallow's Eve, I've gotta put a little morose in there somewhere.
These beliefs that are falling are not little, they are HUGE. The kind of things that we never question. Life-long assumptions based on nothing but the passed-down assumption itself.
And I'll tell you, it really does feel like falling. Like erasing biblical hoards of stale, archaic information. Each belief, like a black-iron bar in the cage, every one that drops is freedom.
And every time one belief falls, another one comes to be seen in it's stead, each one with it's own life, and it's own death. Parading through MIND like the Día de los Muertos.
And oh, how I love that they come to me this way.
Every thought and belief, coming so much more easily now, showing itself, waiting to be healed, and let go.
Every one of them with it's own pain and burden, and yet, it feels safe to show up on my doorstep, and say BOO.
So I give them something sweet. The sweetest thing I can give them…
A respite from the cold and dark of their constant worry. A question that reminds them, and me, of what we are.
A question so kind that it sends us into fits of laughter, and tears… and grace.
And we fall into the night that bore us, until the spark of life ignites brand new.
That's how it is, you know. We are born every instant.
Every moment, we incarnate into a thought. And we live it out, each one with it's very own world therein. And then it passes, like a cloud in the sky, and a whole new world is born in the next thought. It's not that each one simply colors your reality, each one BECOMES your reality for the instant it is with you.
Which is why it is a powerful thing to befriend them. To see what they are saying.
To see the life they're living. And to let them look at themselves in the mirror — because that's what questioning thoughts does. It let's the mind see it's many disguises. The spook-tacular line-up of it's varied ghosts and ghouls.
But under every frightening costume, is nothing more than a fearful child.
Wanting to know who it is, and how it fits. Wanting to know that the monsters under the bed are un-real. Wanting to masquerade in terror-inducing guises because of it's underlying feeling of powerlessness and separation.
But we are not frightened of children in terrifying costumes… because we know what they ARE. There's no confusion. We see their innocence through the mask.
Thoughts are the same way. We see them for what they are, and they feel loved enough to move on.
And what is left when they all fall away? Peace.
And an unimaginably alive fullness of gratitude...
like the brilliant blue glow of the North Star, in a dark and still winter sky.