As the Leaf, So am I

I'm sitting at my writing table window, watching the wind whip clean the Pine branches. Dead, brown pine straw lets go of the trees and flutters to the ground. Everywhere, three-pronged offerings spin down and are received by the earth without any fuss. It's Autumn, after all, it's the cycle of change. I don't always feel the season sloughing off with ease. Many years I have held onto summer as long as possible, but this Autumn, I'm genuinely experiencing letting go. 

Friday, I was invited to participate in feeding our local marginalized community. I showed up at the gathering hall, hoping to sit with people, eat dinner, listen, and get to know folks. The serving team supported my goal one hundred percent, yet something inside kept me busily at a distance. I arrived early and fell into the role of dutifully helping here and helping there. I noticed when I was "serving," taking the plate to a guest, offering water, and asking what was needed, I felt comfortable, friendly, and genuinely connected. Serving was my comfort zone. 

Twice I sat down and engaged with people and was entirely rewarded, not by what I gave but by what I received. Eventually, I met two Jamaican men and asked what brought them to Tahoe. One of the men gently smiled, explaining that the Jamaican dollar had devalued over the years to the point that it was barely worth anything ($100 Jamaican dollars are worth 63 US cents). Socialist Democracy had taken over his country. I knew none of this and listened with rapt attention as he explained his plan to work in the USA and get his life back. He said in a lilting voice, "I'm a man of peace, I don't do violence. Someone told me to come to Lake Tahoe, CA, so here I am. It's beautiful and the people are so nice." He oozed warm-hearted gratitude. 

The other person I sat with was a bedraggled, wild-eyed man who I had met years ago at the Mental Health Department. He bombastically strolled in, sat down, shoveled in his food, and then dramatically pushed his finished plates across the table for the approaching server to gather. He was told to settle down. Genuinely wishing to reconnect, I sat down with this man and another older fellow who quietly sat beside him. He watched all the commotion and didn't move away as the others at his table had. Before I could wonder what to say, I was asked rocket-fire questions: Do you live in Tahoe? How long? How old are you? Do you have children? When did you graduate? Then...introductions followed. The carbonated atmosphere calmed as we told stories and shared desserts. 

At night's end, after cleaning up, the friend who invited me asked if I got what I wanted from the evening. Yes, I answered, and then shared my strong pull towards serving and productivity, not wanting to appear as being a slacker by the team and...the great joy of finally making deeper connections. My friend reiterated her support to just sit, eat, and be with the guests. The team members close by nodded in agreement, "It's what they need most." 

It's what I need most. Is service a shield I wear, or perhaps a cape I tie on before I fly in to save the day? What might happen if I simply show up and let the winds blow me here, blow me there? I know I am ultimately supported 100%, by my practice, by the ground of who I am--the ancestors, my good heart, love, compassion--those things AT MY SERVICE that are inexhaustible. 

May our letting go of the season be gentle, full, and thorough. May we not fight change but trust where it's leading us. Letting go, may we meet our neighbors with nothing to fix and everything to learn.