Late October. The trees are letting go of their leaves. There is no struggle in it, no ceremony — they simply open their branches and let them fall.
A leaf never clings to its branch. It does not bargain for one more day. It does not carve its name into the bark so it will be remembered. When its season ends, it lets go — and the tree is not diminished by the letting go. It is made ready for spring.
We are not like the leaf. We hold on — to what we did for others, to what they owe us, to the story of who we were and who wronged us. We grip these things as if opening our hand would mean losing ourselves. That grip is the false mind: everything we have accumulated throughout our lives, held tight in the fist of “me.”
But look closely at what we are holding. A leaf that refuses to fall does not save the tree; it only withers on the branch. In the same way, what we refuse to release does not protect us — it weighs us down. A mind that clings cannot be free.
Meditation is the practice of opening the hand. We look back on the accumulated false mind — the grievances, the pride, the old stories — and we let them go, one by one, the way trees release their leaves. As the false mind is discarded, the true mind is uncovered: clear, light, and free.
The fallen leaves do not mourn themselves. They rest on the earth and quietly become the soil for what comes next. If you want to know that lightness — come and meditate with us.