Secular Funeral – Funeral Orator – Zen Master Reding – Now that the leaves are falling, oh my, how pale, I feel how old I’ve become!

Whether the ashes should be scattered in the lake or a natural burial according to your wishes, contact us anytime for an alternative burial or secular funeral. Abbot Reding from the Honora Zen Monastery will be happy to help organize the farewell ceremony.

Prayer and Meditation

Now that the leaves are falling, oh my, how pale, I feel how old I've become. This is tormenting me. The sun is shining. Oh, sun, how cold you are. Autumn was once a song to me too. now i am old rainless, rainless skies, land and sea; All pleasure has become a burden and the heart aches. Gray spidery a fog holds everything being in prison, sorrowful courage weeps in the distance, every strength is sick.

The princess sits in the tower; Her harp sounds, and I hear her soul singing weary longing. rainless, rainless skies, land and sea. All pleasure has become a burden, and the heart aches. Since I tenderly love the green splendor of the trees and consequently feel very sad now in autumn. When they fall, when the tops are defoliated everywhere and the leaves are destroyed. It seems to me whether I hear them softly as they fall to comfort me Lisps babble. "You do not see us parting from the beloved tree to undress it, nor to leave it naked and bare. Oh no, we make room for fresh and more beautiful leaves."

Secular Funeral Orator

Autumn lies on all paths, his dress is resplendent in a hundred colors, like his mourning, his blessings he scatters around him at the same time. The foot rustles in the withered foliage, what blossoms and greens became a dream . Alone on the stick the grape beckons and golden fruit adorns the tree all around. So autumn takes and gives with full hands, a thief and a fairy. He alone can give fulfillment, but it envelops a deep woe!

O, autumn of the soul! thy fruits, too, are they gain, or robbery? The blossom of wishes is destroyed, the green of hope is a withered leaf. Bought too hard to make happy, O, autumn of the soul, is your adornment! The juice of the grape can delight, but no bliss flows from you.