Dear First name / friend,
The forest is speaking. The leaves are loosening their grip. The air has changed its song. We are in the time of release.
The season of fall is when the earth herself practices letting go. The trees release what they no longer need as an offering, their falling leaves becoming nourishment for the unseen roots beneath the soil. Their dying is how life continues.
As we observe Native American Heritage Month, we also honor the grief held in Indigenous lineages today. We remember those who are missing, unsolved, and unheard, and acknowledge the ongoing impact on families and communities. Indigenous women and girls continue to face the highest rates of violence and trafficking in the U.S., yet this crisis remains largely overlooked. In this season of release, may we let go of silence and denial, and instead make room for visibility, accountability, and collective remembrance and action.
At Suun Mokkh, Ajahn Buddhasāsa Bhikkhu told his students: “Look at the leaf that falls. It does not cry, it nourishes the soil and feeds new life. This is Dhamma and the nature of letting go.” Letting go is not rejection. It is returning. It is the movement of belonging to find its next form.
Looking to grief as an earth-based practice is the center piece for the fall season. In this season, grief ripens. It does not come to punish us. It comes to break the walls we’ve built between ‘me’ and the ‘world’. When we let grief come through us, we remember: there is no special self to protect. There is only the rhythm of holding and releasing, like the breath of the forest itself.
Our late beloved teacher Thích Nhất Hạnh said, “When you look deeply, you will see me in every leaf, in every cloud, in every flower. You will see me in your mindfulness and in your loving speech and action. If you look for me, look in the direction of your practice; I am always there.”
I often return to the elements as a daily practice. We give our sorrow to Mother Earth, and she gives us steadiness. We give our tears to the great bodies of water running through her, and the water gives us flow. Understanding the flow of life is what the late Joanna Macy would call “the great turning.” When Māra came to the Buddha to disrupt his awakening, the Buddha did not argue with Māra, and instead gracefully touched the earth. The earth became his witness. Just like this, when you are overwhelmed, ground yourself with the earth as a practice. Make an offering and share your grief with our beloved earth who knows how to transform it.
My dear spiritual friend Vimalasara reminds us that anger, fear, and shame are not enemies. They are energies that can be tended and transmuted. “Every time you choose love over anger, compassion over blame, you reclaim your freedom. When rage comes, say ‘Ah, fire element has come to teach me clarity.’ When fear comes, say ‘Ah, water has come to teach me flow.’” These emotions are not mistaken. They are the wild edges of awakening.
The Venerable Dhammananda Bhikkhuni said, “Liberation is not only an inner experience. It must manifest outwardly: in how we live, serve, and free others from suffering.”
When we heal our grief, the trees can breathe easier. When we forgive ourselves, the rivers run clearer. When we remember we belong, our ancestors sigh with relief.
Audre Lorde said, “When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.” This is the spirit of letting go… it is not defeat, it is courage.
We are not here to transcend grief. We are here to tend to it, as gardeners tend to their garden. May we learn from the trees how to shed with grace, from the rivers how to move on and flow, from the earth how to hold what falls, and from each other how to stay human in a time that asks us to keep opening… the opening of our hearts to look directly at what we are facing.
May all who suffer find rest and restoration. May all who grieve find connection and belonging. May all who let go find themselves more deeply rooted in love.
