Here in this protected oasis (for the moment) I look for what is solid and real, while around me everything appears to spin out of control.
In the northern hemisphere, we are wrapping up summer, transitioning to fall; it is reassuring that the seasons keep changing, following more or less a regular pattern. Here in our Canadian harbour, we are planting seeds for a new construction – a future home in the country and retreat center slash music space – a new beginning for both of us, as we tear down the old horse barn, (recycled to an alpaca farm) and get ready to clear the land and rebuild. Hopefully next spring it will be ready to move in. A dream project is unfolding as we enter a new phase of being (almost) grandparents (due in January), and partial retirement for my husband next June.
This year has seen the end of a work cycle for me as all workshops and
retreats (in person) were cancelled – with the Covid pause, there was less
workflow, and more rest time. It was a needed break after spinning my wheels
and ramping up my networks. It feels like the end of a part of my life cycle
too – my mother passed in April, and her house of 54 years was emptied - the
overflowing basement and closets, her five bedroom house finally cleaned and
cleared of smoke, furniture, old boxes
of memories, letters and photos, and just plain junk. We made a big bonfire at my brother's and burned some old desks and things. That felt good.
In this blessed pause from more public activities, there’s a strong pull to write family history or memoir (as I sort through all the slides, photos and movies, letters and treasures found in my mother’s house). There is a freedom that comes with emptying. I may become able to write more, as I let go of all the shoulds that weigh on me. I step back and imagine letting the basket of shoulds lie on the floor – maybe writing them down on small pieces of paper and burning the words, emptying myself out just like my mother’s house-- of all the internal boxes, baggage, collections of hurts, past grievances, allegiances, lists of things I think I must do, responsibilities for others I have taken on – sifting and sorting what is mine to do or not mine, (releasing the good girl, rescuing others, being a busy body); leading women’s circles, performing a public role, or wearing the mask of One who knows how it should be; the desire to be seen as wise mentor – all that – scuffed, sloughed off, recycled and composted. An emptying out of the inner house too. Perhaps an invitation to the muse.
Here and now, fall means making arrangements to close up the deck, the dock, the porch, the cushions and couch, the outdoor places ready to be sealed up, the garden put to bed, the hedges clipped, although I want to leave the flowers with seeds and tall grasses for the birds to glean this winter.
It will soon be
Thanksgiving, and already the stores and markets are overflowing with an abundance
of tomatoes, squash and cauliflower; the harvest is plentiful, we are ready for
gratitude, feasting and parties flowing with the grape/wine harvest too.
May the cycles and seasons hold to their course. And may all the
fullness of the season, of autumn and its rich blessings, find you well, keep
you safe.
For those who are gathering the broken pieces of their homes after a
disastrous season of fiery storms and hurricane flooding, may the homes you rebuild
be safe and free from harm. For those faced with illness and loss in this
pandemic time, may you find the grace and benevolence of life cycles, even
there.
May the teachings of fall, about cycles, endings and beginnings remind
us we are part of the natural cycle too, and help us find our own season of
fallow, of rest and renewal.
May the muse be with you.
