When the leaves turn at first frost—a crimson tide rolling vertically down the continent on its march to the sea—this is a collective event. But when a tremulous leaf at last lets go and drifts to the forest floor, this is an individual event.
All loss is felt at first individually—as inadmissible regret or hoarded shame or stifled grief. To each, our personal catastrophe. Only later—sometimes much later—will we look up to see the naked branches that signify the onset of winter.
It’s said that we all die alone, and that no one can do the dying for you. This is true. Dying is an individual act. Letting go, that little death, is likewise a solitary undertaking. No one can do it for you. One may guide you to the entrance of that stair, but you will need to walk the underworld journey alone.
This is not a mistake or a coincidence. If I tried to walk that road with you, I would only hinder you. For the leaf to fall, the tree cuts off all nourishment. Otherwise, the leaf would cling forever. If we could live all our days in summer, we would never allow the cold. If someone else could do the work of growing up for us, we would let them—and in so doing we would prove ourselves to still be children.
Still, there are teachers. We die alone, but we can teach each other how. And so it has been that in every time and place there have been teachers and traditions and rituals that ease the journey towards the widening of would-be narrow lives.
Good teaching is beyond precious, and can prevent much suffering.
It is said that at each phase in our journey, a guide presents as is needed and the timing is not of our own choosing. We cannot outpace our own unfolding or hurry the waxing of our souls.
But there are signposts and rhythms that we can recognize to understand the changes that we are undergoing. It seems to me, that for some time now, we have been doing the work of letting go on a scale so large and so intimate that it’s difficult to see.
Sometime in the last half century, we stopped trusting. We stopped trusting the the politicians, and the doctors, and the pastors, and the moguls, and the artists, and even ourselves. We unenrolled on a vast scale.
This rejection of our institutions in the West has been well documented, but I’m not sure that we’ve slowed down enough to realized what it means. It’s mainstream now, to reject the mainstream. We’ve let go of so many identities and so many safe harbors and we just keep sinking further into the place where there’s nothing to grab onto.
In fact, there’s not much left to reject or to be skeptical of or to disbelieve. Our grandparents had the chance to be rebels, but for us there’s nothing to rebel against.
It seems that the time of letting go is reaching fulfillment. A whole society has given up on the old ways that didn’t serve us. It’s been a terrible price to pay and we’re tearing ourselves apart because not trusting anyone is a difficult thing to feel.
This is a sign post. It means something.
It may mean that the time is ripe for the first fragile bloom of a new consciousness to emerge from its long gestation. It may mean that realizations that weren’t possible when we clung to our institutionalized parents are now quietly taking root in countless fertile minds.
Let me ask you something.
Did you pause trying to heal the world when you realized you needed to be healed?
Did you find that you had a backlog of tears that seemed generations long?
Then look around you. We were born the children of winter. These tears were stored up and given to you to shed. They are an offering.
And be encouraged! Because life doesn’t give up. When the old ways die, new ways take root. The dying is necessary. We’ve been learning how to die for a long, long time. We’re still learning, but now, I think it’s our job to start relearning how to live.
In the end, we can’t remain rebels. Not individually or collectively. The anger has to play itself out. The rebel is a reaction, not an identity. The rebel is against something, but not yet for something. When the flame of anger flames out, then the true substance is revealed.
We didn’t choose to be born into the end of an era and the climax of a crisis of trust. But it is for us to choose what happens next. I think that for the first time in a long time, we get to choose. Because choice is what happens after letting go.
We get to make something new.
Our ancestors had to be betrayed and disappointed again and again and again for us to learn to let go. How many wars? How much devastation? How much isolation? It’s difficult to fathom.
It’s been a very long winter. But I think it is our task—the task of the children of winter— to invoke the rites of Spring.
We are bid to be fruitful. Life requires it.
Nothing is decided for us anymore. Will we have children? How will we teach them? How will we arrange our dwellings? Who will be of kin to us? How will we express our deepest loves? How will we honor the departed? How will we revere this more than human world? How might we, at last, die with grace and courage?
To discern these things is our responsibility and a privilege paid for at a great price. It’s a precious, precious opportunity.
I don’t know if we can change the world. But we can live changed in the world as a voice of freedom, love, and respect for the sacred mystery of life. We can begin again.
It’s hard work, but it’s also very simple. We’re ready. It is as natural as the sprouting of new leaves when the days grow longer and the air is warmed with the promise of Springtime.