An Act of Return

"When you pay sustained, compassionate attention, it completely changes your relationship with the other.”

 — John Muir

Words drip out of my mouth like tiny seeds. I imagine them falling under the crunchy leaves into the rich humus, germinating in the quiet darkness. The next morning, green sprouts already peek out of the earth, and I’m shaking my head in wonder.

I haven’t thought about manifestation in a while, yet living in a community of Jewish farmers and outdoor educators places me in an imaginative realm where anything is possible, and everything is growing. Perhaps I’m more connected to my intuition in a community aligned with the natural world. Whatever it is, it feels magical. 

Leaves float down and weave a tapestry of crimson browns, and golden-orange paths; time feels suspended–almost like someone is up there creating the winds that let each leaf have its last dance. I’ve spent weeks learning the shapes of these fallen leaves–the sugar maple's cavity bites, the red oak's spikey flames, and the intricate waves of the white oak. During my sit spots, I've been thinking about how you never forget a leaf’s shape once you’ve looked at it like you would a person. And these words by John Muir: "When you pay sustained, compassionate attention, it completely changes your relationship with the other.”  

I want to be in the world by paying attention to everything around me, even when I’m not immersed in nature or living seasonally like farmers. In Judaism, the month we are in is one of return, where we engage with the idea of returning to who we are at the core. During a moment of introspection last week, I heard someone declare that compost is the ultimate act of returning, and I knew I needed to write about it.

There does seem to be something sacred about returning my orange peels to the Earth.

Our farm's compost is a giant mountain of decomposing food scraps, leaves, and plants, also known as carbon and nitrogen organic materials that are breaking down and being munched on by worms and other tiny microorganisms. Composting is nature’s recycling system—a place where we return nutrients to the Earth, making soil for new plants to grow.

I’ve never felt more connected to myself than when I’m scraping my plate into a compost bucket after every meal. If I’m on trash duty, I will then schlep the house compost to an even bigger bucket, which is wheeled away by farmers all the way back to the chicken coop. What an act of return!

If you’ve ever contemplated composting, imagine how it would feel to finally take the steps to make a backyard compost of your very own. The apple core that normally gets moldy inside your kitchen trash bag, can have a new life. If you live in a city, it may be easier to consider letting someone else do the schlepping for you–find out if there’s a composting service near you! In Philadelphia, Circle Compost, comes and picks up my compost bucket every other week.

Composting may just change your life.

Previous
Previous

Why I started walking barefoot again

Next
Next

Between the concrete cracks