“Ancestral Earth Memory- Honoring the Past. Tending the Future”

As I sit here on my patio, my eyes are closed, and my face is turned toward the sun—soaking up the last warm rays of the season. I can hear and smell the approach of the deeper season of autumn as October arrives. I am paying close attention to the trees. The mighty Oaks and graceful Poplar trees on our property loosen their hold on the leaves they have carried since spring, allowing each one to drift, spiral, and flutter back to the earth. One by one, they let go. There is no struggle in their release—only a quiet surrender to the turning season and a trust that letting go is not the end of the story. Somehow those leaves know they will become nourishment for the soil so the next generation of trees and plants can grow.

Remembering…

October has a way of bringing the past closer. As the landscape becomes quieter and the familiar scents, colors, and rituals of autumn return, memories long tucked away begin to stir.

Perhaps that is why October so often awakens memory. We unpack familiar sweaters, prepare recipes that have warmed our families for generations (I am remembering my mom’s beef stew at the moment), visit orchards and pumpkin fields, and place autumn decorations around our homes. As Halloween approaches, images of ghosts and spirits appear on porches and in shop windows, while observances such as All Saints’ Day, All Souls’ Day, and Día de los Muertos invite people to remember and honor those who have died. Even the scent of woodsmoke or the sound of leaves beneath our feet can return us to another time and place.

In these sensory memories, the past draws close. We are reminded that our lives did not begin with us.

The Ancestral Impact…

Our ancestors live within us in ways we may recognize and in ways we may never fully understand. We inherit their stories, customs, strengths, fears, and ways of moving through the world. We may carry a grandmother’s tenderness, a father’s perseverance, or the quiet resilience of relatives whose names we do not know.

The land holds memory, too. Beneath every garden, forest path, farm field, and neighborhood are layers of lives that came before ours. Other feet walked here. Other hands tended this soil. Other people looked toward the same moon and wondered what the coming season might bring.

To honor those who came before does not require us to romanticize the past. Every lineage contains both beauty and pain. Some inherit detailed family histories; others encounter silence, separation, displacement, or stories that were deliberately lost. Honoring our ancestors does not mean approving of every choice they made. It means acknowledging that their lives formed part of the ground from which ours emerged.

The Connection to Yoga…

The yogic practice of svadhyaya, or self-study, asks us to look inward with honesty and compassion. What qualities have been passed down to us that we wish to nurture? Which beliefs, fears, or patterns are we ready to release? We can receive the wisdom of our lineage without carrying every burden forward.

October offers a simple ritual for this reflection:

Take a quiet walk and choose a fallen leaf. Hold it in your hands and remember someone whose life helped shape your own. Speak their name, recall a lesson they taught you, or simply offer silent gratitude. Then return the leaf to the Earth. As you do, consider what you want to carry forward—and what can be released gently back into the soil.

The fallen leaf is not separate from the tree’s continuing life. It nourishes the ground, making room for what will grow next. We are part of that same sacred rhythm: receiving, releasing, and becoming.

Someday, we too will be the ancestors. The kindness we offer, the healing we undertake, and the way we care for this Earth will become part of someone else’s inheritance.

One Last Thing Before I Go…

As the leaves fall around you this month, listen closely. The Earth may be reminding you that letting go and remembering can be part of the same beautiful season.

Until next time.

Namaste-