The Great Unraveling

I took an early morning walk in the forest. I have a secret spot, invisible from the trail, a place I go to meditate. There is a particular fallen log concealed by brush that I seek out, and when you find your way there the whole world falls away beneath you and the view opens up to ocean, ocean, ocean. It wasn't the ocean that got my attention today, however, but the beauty of decaying things.

Forests are generous teachers of the cycles of life. I was sitting on a fallen tree trunk so the very bench that supported me was dying and so gradually melting and merging with the earth beneath it. I guess what attracted my attention first was all the pine cones. Some were green, others were a deep gray and looked almost petrified, and many were half eaten. How long does it take for a pine cone's brittle shell to decay and offer up its seed to the earth? My mind was quiet and at some point I realized that my "meditation" for the morning was all about decay. I let my attention drift and I was pulled deeper and deeper into a word-less wonder toward everything around me that was in the process of dissolving.

The forest floor was covered with a foot of decaying detritus, mostly pine needles, but with more life and complexity than I could ever guess at. Fallen tree limbs, bark, moss, feathers, seed pods . . . I was surrounded by this incredible symphony of decay. And I do mean symphony. You could almost hear the growth and decay, the energy being given off by it all.

And there I sat on my decaying log, lost in wordless wonder at the beauty of everything that was dying. A piece of bark held all the mysteries of the universe. Its beauty was stunning. Line, color, texture . . . a perfection that would have remained forever unnoticed if I hadn't chosen that particular time to open my eyes and quiet the thoughts that keep me missing what the moment holds.

The forest on Sunday morning is my cathedral. I find my "Sunday service" there and the sermon is always waiting for me. Today's sermon was about the Great Unraveling and in the silence I fell into rapture over how we grow, blossom, decay, and die. I saw beauty in all of the stages, and most particularly in the unraveling, the un-making. It became more difficult when we got to the end of today's sermon, however, for here I was invited to extend this same awareness and rapture that was so easy to experience in the forest and offer it to myself. Could this be possible?

I gazed at my own hand and again saw evidence of the great unraveling. Wrinkles. Age spots. Time in the sun has left its mark on my hands. Could I dare name this "beautiful" in the same way I was able to appreciate the decaying forest? I cannot say I was able to rhapsodize over the beauty of my aging hand, but I did get to a place where I was able to offer a half smile and the word "yes." I felt different in my body when I got up from the log. I had an appreciation, even a reverence for my changing body. If I am unraveling, too, may it be with the grace that nature teaches me.