As I was sitting in church yesterday I was looking out a window at dead leaves blowing on mostly barren trees. The morning was chilly with a breeze. The sun was casting shadows about. The leaves were pale brown, as they are during the winter. Even with unseasonable warm weather, the buds on older trees in Chapel Hill, NC were not visible.
I have messaged in the past of dead leaves holding on to the branch even though the majority have let go and fallen to the ground. Yet there were several bunches of leaves determined to remain on these tree. What did they fear? Falling, being separated from the branch that once fed them, unable to move beyond? Or just waiting for the new buds to come, so that where they are connected to the branch will not be empty; their attachment place.
Now the breeze would pick up and the leaves would move but I could only see this. I could not hear the leaves touching to make the “rustling” sound I am familiar with. If I had closed my eyes to listen, I would not have heard. For what the eyes see, I cannot hear, and what I hear, I cannot see.
It is a real struggle at times to let go and listen to the heart Attachment creates suffering.
Holding on to that which is no longer giving life, joy, freedom, but becoming incapable of letting go because of the fear of falling, becoming separated, or unable to move beyond.
I realized that I was observing the trees and leaves I was able to become aware of the clear cloudless blue sky beyond the trees. What a most beautiful sky. Because i was fixated on the struggle of the leaves, I was unable to see the backdrop of the sky. Then I heard the priest talking of the 2011 French movie “The Artist”.
The majority of the movie is silent other than music. But when the main character hears a glass as he places it on the dressing table, it is the first sound in the movie. Yet he cannot hear himself. He then finds sound to be an extreme annoyance rather than a means of discovery.
Maybe this is why we can see but unable to listen. To hear but unable to listen.
Whether to the sounds of leaves, of life, our hearts, or to another, a feather falling