Fostering Connections
Lughnasadh (aka Lammas) celebrates the first harvest of the year. Today, I honor the generosity of the earth with a light glance back at the abundance that has sustained and supported me throughout the year.
May you find too joy, beauty, love, and health among your harvest this season… and may those fruits lay seed for the season’s ahead.
Traveling toward the center, my thoughts are busy. I am letting go of the morning’s shoveling and stretching my legs. The idea of making a spiral in the fresh, deep snow sounded like play. But then I begin and a vision of what could be interferes with what is.
The emerging spiral is oblong. That’s not what I had in mind. Disappointment flickers in for a flash before I let it go.
Our dog, Karma, follows me around the first layer, grateful to be going for a walk and glad to walk in my footprints rather than the belly-high snow. A few feet into the second loop, she pauses, looks at me forging ahead and then crosses from the inner layer to the outer one and follows our trail back to the house. Apparently, she’d rather sit on the steps and wait for me to let her in then walk in circles! I look at the path she’s made by crossing the layers. “The spiral is ruined” flutters across my mind for a brief second. I let that go too.
For a moment, I consider abandoning this attempt and starting anew or joining Karma in retreat. But I was drawn to this exercise for a reason I do not yet know; I am curious to see how it “turns out”. And I am surprised by the critical observations intruding on my play. They are surprising but not unfamiliar. This is how it can be when I am turned inward — serious, exacting, overly-concerned, moving towards a vision of what could be, nearly missing what is.
There is beauty and humor in Karma’s wisdom, sitting on the steps while I walk in circles. I keep walking and turning, turning, turning towards the center. I walk mini-circles to create a mini-landing, a turning-around place. I am suddenly aware of how, after the first two layers of the spiral, my mind had quieted. For several layers, there had not been thought of perfection or imperfection of purpose or play. There had only been the slow and continual movement toward the center.
Now here, at the heart of the spiral, I pause and look up, noticing the glint of light on the snow and the call of the birds in the trees. We are turning toward spring and the birds and sunlight are sparkly in the face of this late winter snow. I pause to appreciate the gifts of both seasons, meeting here on this day that I get to appreciate.
As I turn to walk outwards, I am rejuvenated. My movement is lighter and easier. I am not thinking, I am just doing, moving outwards in the work that is mine to do. As a teacher, a friend, a parent, a partner, this is the way it is. When I am in motion and in relationship, there is an ease. I just move forward to the next right thing.
It is when I turn inward that there is a risk of getting caught in my head with second-guessing myself or judging what is against what could be. But introspection and reflection are also fuel and nourishment for outer life.
I am reminded that maintaining a healthy balance in my life requires paying attention to both the inner life and the outer expression. One is not complete without the other, and both benefit from an embrace of imperfection, humility, and humor. This is not new news to me but I guess I needed a reminder.
I’ll keep walking the spiral until the snow melts. Perhaps there are more reminders waiting around the next turn.
Milkweed is a food source for monarch butterflies and other pollinators. You may remember that I left a few stalks to grow in the garden this year. Those few stalks have turned into a dozen or so. They are now going to seed and each stalk holds the potential for hundreds more plants. The seeds are blowing into every other raised bed in the garden as well as into the surrounding field. I suspect I will wrestle with whether or not to leave the milkweed or plant vegetables next spring. For now, I am appreciating the abundance of the dispersal. On this crisp and sunny fall afternoon, I spent a few long minutes sitting with the seed pods and seeds.
In the field and in the garden,
milkweed pods are dry and cracked open.
Bursting with potential,
each pod holds hundreds of seeds.
They hang now in clumps,
expanding and loosening
as the sun and wind fluff and dry
the silky hairs that extend from each seed.
When the time is right,
the wind will nudge them, one at a time, into the wider world.
As they each float away from the mother plant,
I notice that no two move the same way.
Some rise up and travel a long distance
before gently floating to a resting spot.
Others descend almost as soon as they are launched,
caught in nearby leaves and stalks.
Watching this dance of holding and release,
drifting and floating,
appreciating the abundance and
possibility both held and scattered,
I consider the bulging seed pod of human potential,
Alive in each of us. Alive in me.
I am waiting patiently (and not so patiently)
For our seed pod to crack open,
and our goodness to pour out on the wind.
I am summoning the courage
to release the gifts I have held dear
and give them freely to the world.
I am trusting the wisdom of our collective
to know when it is time to rise in action
and when it is time to lay quiet.
I am honoring the turning of the season
around me
and within me.
This morning, I was up before the sun. I lit a candle and a fire. I imagined the sun recognizing the kindred flames in my house as she climbed higher into the eastern sky, casting first light on the oaks and the chickadees at the edge of the field. I watched the light rise, slowly and steadily birthing a new day. What an honor to witness this passage.
This daily miracle is one that I often miss in the summer. The sun rises early in the summer, very early. But now, just a week after the autumnal equinox, I am rising with, or even before the sun. I am grateful to be in such good company. The light and heat of the sun beckon me to meet the new day with fresh eyes and heart. May I be a beacon for someone somewhere as well.
A few hours later, I pulled on a wool sweater before heading out for a walk. At the first touch of the cool air on my face, I felt a wash of nostalgia. The combination of the crisp, cool air, bright blue sky, and warm cozy sweater ushered in comfort and familiarity. In a flash, I recognized the 49 years of autumn that I have lived and thousands of years of autumns that predate me. This season of transition invites me to re-member my place within an expansive cycle of being. May I also offer an opportunity for connection and remembering to the human and more than human beings around me.
For dinner, I made homemade soup. Chopping vegetables and simmering the stock slowed and calmed my senses. The dozens of things on my to-do list fell away as the pace and rhythm of dinner prep took over. Sitting by candle light to eat my simple (and delicious!) meal of soup and bread, I give thanks for the teaching and nourishment of Creation. May the work of my life also nourish and sustain.
I end the day as I began, by candlelight. The sun set a few hours ago and the glow of the computer glares harshly in the dimly lit room. But I am inspired to write and reconnect with the readers of this blog — and I am grateful for the inspiration. I do not know what is ahead in this fall season and if it will lead back to a more regular rhythm of writing. I do know that I have welcomed the new season thoroughly today. And, it has welcomed me.
How have you noticed this new season arriving in your life?
The paddle board offers access to a whole new world, the watery domain of loon, heron, eagle. I try to be a good guest.
Standup paddle board
Carries me to a new realm.
I am humbled, stunned,
Amidst the watery depths,
Heron, loon, eagle
Are fishing, swimming, flying.
morning reverie.
I paddle more and
more slowly until I stop.
How can I go on?
Here, in the middle of the lake, suspended between the vast sky above, and the watery depths below, I interrupt the stillness of the lake. I simply cannot move without creating a ripple. Water skimmers dance across the surface of the lake, creating a v-shaped wake behind them. I too am creating a wake.
As I glide silently under the pine tree where a mature bald eagle is roosted, it flies away. I notice an immature eagle and another mature eagle that have remained situated, slightly higher and farther away from the shore. I linger for a moment, staring up to take in their size, their stillness, their majestic stature. Then, worried that I might cause them to fly too, I paddle on.
I spot the sharp, pointed head of a great blue heron rising above a stand of reeds. She is slowly walking through the watery vegetation near the shore. I am in the middle of the lake channel, but studying closely as she stalks her breakfast. Then, suddenly, she flies. Perhaps I’ve come too close. I’ve certainly given her more attention than she cares to carry on her skinny shoulders.
As is often the case, we hear the loons before we see them. Their loud echoing call fills the air with mystery and my heart swells with awe. A loon call is haunting — and promising. Loons are an indicator species and the presence of nesting loons indicates that the water and shore conditions are sufficiently healthy for raising babies. As we approach, I am reminded of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Lead” in which she invokes the loon’s story to invite our hearts to “break open and never close again to the rest of the world.”
As our paths cross, the loons dive, wary of a passing stranger. They are wise. I’d be wary of me too. Despite the ways in which I try to be “one of the good ones”, humans are making a mess. We are not to be trusted. And, sometimes, despite my good intentions, I make a mess too.
I have been paddling slowly, quietly, gently so as not to disrupt the others. And still, my presence has had an impact. I have interrupted breakfasts, mating, and morning meditation. Participating in the human family at this time in this culture creates an impact. I strive to make that impact as positive as possible when I can — and I have a lot to learn.
As we continue to paddle, people who reside in the camps, cabins, and houses along the lakeshore are waking up. There are moms and boys fishing, dads and toddlers building in the sand along the shore, a woman in a rowboat, a family in a fishing boat, elders watching the lake wake up from their lazy boys behind the picture window.
What would be the impact, if we all started from the Hippocratic oath premise of “do no harm” ?
Better yet, what if we all started from the Leave No Trace ethic of “leave it better than you found it”?
What if “it” referred not only to the human family, but also to the heron, the eagle, the loon, the lake?
I am as glad as anyone to have a 3-day weekend but, in the interest of aligning my intent with the positive impact that I hope to have, I am tending an Independence Day that matches my values.
I will work for independence from the systems and beliefs that perpetuate violence and harm to others.
I will honor bodily autonomy for all ~ no matter the gender, skin color, sexual orientation, or species.
I will lean into the interdependence of individuals, species, and ecosystems.
I will celebrate both you and me and the beauty of our connectivity.
What will you celebrate today? And tomorrow? And the day after that?
Together, we are co-creating a new way of being human in the world.
(Read other musings about independence and interdependence here and here.)
Last weekend, we celebrated Beltane, the midpoint between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice. A phoebe outside the window has been trying to wake me up earlier and earlier the last few days.
Today, I responded to the invitation to rise earlier. Stepping into the glistening world, I was brought to tears by the brilliance of the sun reflecting on and through drops of moisture on each blade of grass. Everywhere I looked, life teemed with freshness, possibility, and newness ~ and I recognized myself as an undeniable part of this whole. The recognition arises in my body and my heart – a knowing beyond language or belief. I am invited. Indeed, my full participation is required in the rising evolving Creation, holy one and sacred all.
On each blade of grass
Drops of life light converge
As a new day dawns
Each dew drop calls out
“You belong. Welcome back home.
You are one of us.”
As I fall into
their glistening liquid spell
I re-member truth.
I am Creation
Light and Life, Singular and
Collective, whole and complete
Born anew each day.
