Autumn and The Beautiful Commerce of Nature
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“The universe is a vast system of exchange. Every artery of it is in motion, throbbing with reciprocity, from the planet to the rotting leaf. The vapor climbs the sunbeam, and comes back in blessings upon the exhausted herb. The exhalation of the plant is wafted to the ocean. And so goes on the beautiful commerce of nature. And all because of dissimilarity— because no one thing is sufficient in itself, but calls for the assistance of something else and repays by a contribution in turn.”
— E. H. Chapin
Autumn is sinking in like twilight. Like ink running down the corners of a darkening sky. Each day a little earlier, we watch the last moments of sunlight slip behind gray clouds. Upcountry on Maui, we wait for those first nights of chill where we may have to close a window or two. Friends in colder climates boast about “sweater weather” and watch leaves turn red and yellow before letting go. When I was a little girl in Hong Kong, this is the time of year we would bake mooncakes and parade in lantern festivals. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the celebrations were about unity and reunion with loved ones and sharing this special time together.
There is a natural inward turning as we move into the shorter days and longer nights of the darker part of the year. And in that darkness, we seek ever more the light of connection. So while we may feel the urge to contract, slow down and get quiet, we may also need to feel and foster our authentic exchange with the world.
Several years ago, for the first time in a long time, I became very sick with a dry cough that lasted weeks. I lost my voice for days and even though I did all the things (steam, gargle, allopathic medicine, Ayurvedic recipes, acupuncture, herbs), my symptoms persisted. My family was about five years in to navigating my mother’s progression with Alzheimer’s disease and with that I had begun experiencing layers of loss as her memory and identity began to let go. I’m not sure how much I realized it at the time, but I was already grieving. There was a sadness bigger than my body, trying to get out, trying to express itself. There was grief I could no longer hold in my lungs or feel in every breath. So my body did the most intelligent thing it knew how. The lungs are called “storehouses of grief” in Chinese Medicine. Whether it is a small persistent cough that lingers or a full blown healing crisis like I experienced back then or anything in between, dysfunction in the lungs often speaks to an underlying vibration of excess sorrow or grief and ultimately underneath that, the lurking shadow of unworthiness and shame— the lie we were told that we are not good enough as we are, that our very existence is not enough to make us worthy of love and life and breath.
A lie’s existence depends on hiding so, to live, it pushes even deeper into our bodies. This shame of our unworthiness that is too strong and too much and too painful for us to feel in each breath, to hold in our lungs, we bury deep in our gut. The large intestine pairs the lungs in Chinese Medicine and physically and vibrationally is responsible for our ability (or lack thereof), to let shit go. The colon is a very large organ with many hiding places. Some people carry deep shame around in their bellies for years, decades, lifetimes, not even knowing or remembering that it’s there, that there was a moment sometime, somewhere, when someone lied to them about their goodness and they believed it.
I believed the lie. Underneath the grief I’ve felt for all the losses in my life, deeper than the default of sadness and the familiarity of and strange comfort in my own tears, below the constant bellowing back and forth in my torso between puffed up arrogance and deflated defeat, I have held in my body the belief that I am not worthy. Not worthy of love. Not worthy of life. Not worthy of exchange with my community or with the world. That deep inside I am not perfect. Not Good Enough. Not Good. Bad. Bad person. Terrible.
It’s not a conscious thought but rather a vibration like a tone or a note that sounds into and through the flesh. Sometimes the song is not even ours, but gets passed down from parents, ancestors or previous lifetimes. And if you get quiet enough, you can hear it. After almost two decades of learning how to listen, I can hear it. I hear it in myself. And I hear it in others. This lie has prevented me from sharing myself fully with the world— my gifts, my heart, my authentic truth. Inevitably though, if we want to get through life with any amount of self worth in tact, we must exchange our energy with the Universe. Each breath gives us this opportunity to participate in what E. H. Chapin called “the beautiful commerce of nature.”
Six months after the death of my father and six years since the death of my mother, I found myself on a two day trek in the Swiss Alps with just one other person. Standing at almost twelve thousand feet next to a receding glacier, the mountain air curled into my lungs like fingers pulling out strands of tears. I melted. I let go. I could barely breathe. My body released so much of what it had been holding in that long season of grief. Up in the highest peaks, I had no choice but to trade what I had for what I needed.
As I turn toward the coming darkness, a season of both celebration & reflection that includes a flurry of childhood memories around holidays, the death dates of both of my parents and my birthday, I’m finding myself again gasping for breath, grasping at the innocence of a little girl who proudly baked her first mooncake, wondering if there was ever a time when I or my parents or their parents or their parents truly felt good enough. I can hear the lie, sung down through centuries like an anthem—one I know by heart. And I also know that to heal is to become whole with nature. That “the universe is a vast system of exchange…” And in this moment, just as on that mountain peak, I have no choice but to trade what I have for what I need. To share my gifts, my heart and my authentic truth with my community and the world.