Falling Leaves


image from this blog.

Thoughts from 2am:

Fuzzy memories of these past years in San Francisco are starting to blend with stories from the book I’m reading – I can’t sleep – and it’s too late for me to easily lull my mind to calm and within the realm of sleep. So I don’t try- I’m in the midst of a big transition and I keep thinking about that Japanese word that we have no name for in English. It describes a falling leaf, so fragile and heartbreakingly beautiful, tragic and hopeful, full of life and potential, ebb and flow, of light and sweet moving silence.

Was it Greg who spoke about it? Or Eri? Sitting cross-legged on the creaky wood floors of the yoga studio, I remember hearing about the leaf- feeling such connection in understanding this fundamental sensation- this desperate pull toward the humanity of emotion- of recognizing the gift of existence.

Resisting the urge to ‘google’ the word, to try to find the actual sound for this feeling and stumble through the phonetic translation so that I can speak it and type it here for you, I will rest with the fading memory. The faint picture of my classmates strewn about the yoga studio discussing life, asana, anatomy, and learning to be ‘yoga teachers.’

It’s not leaving here, or leaving anywhere, that seems to be difficult for me- it’s this emotion that it stirs up. This intense, tear-jerking, grateful awareness of how fleeting everything is. And from that: a choice. To be afraid of losing and making mistakes, of having things taken away and being mournful, or choosing to act: to jump, to fly, to love with abandon.

And oh does it hurt sometimes. But not only does worrying place that doubt in your intention, it slowly dulls away the glistening reality of what’s in front of you.

In front of me: a scruffle-bearded partner who I love beyond words, breathing peacefully on our mattress. This mattress which now lays on the floor after selling our bed frame and most of our furniture.

So I dive in. I’m sure there will be surprises along the way. But I feel such a tangible brightness right now. Typing under the dim glow of my computer screen, I make a choice. A choice for growth, happiness, renewal, expansion. A choice to live the life I want.

It’s always a choice.


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