The turning of the tide
Fall is a season that never fails to unsettle me.
One year, I relish its breathtaking beauty, another, I feel I am witness to a slow and painful release. And inevitably, I always dread what comes after: winter holds less charm for me than any other season, and it usually lasts longer than I like.
On the whole, my spring, summer and Indian summer were filled with enormous momentum and positive energy. Creatively and professionally, I have had the best year of my life so far.
Last year, I wrote something similar, and I was loath to see fall arrive. I wanted my summer to last a little longer, it had been such a good one.
This year, which qualifies as an even better one on basically every level, I don’t fear the falling of the leaves. I’m filled to the brim, stuffed on sunlight and yang energy. I’m tired, like a fruit tree with branches hanging down to the ground, laden with harvest weight. I’m quite ready to let go.
Ever since I left the plateau and felt Spirit draw me into its river, I have experienced my life as a boat trip. The current is unmistakable, its pull irresistible.
Now this was a year in which I have rowed hard. Not because of an upstream journey or unexpected setbacks, but rather because positive energy engenders more energy, investing in the flow creates more flow, working hard from Spirit produces more, and better, results. It’s been quite the ride.
But now my arms are tired. Instead of rowing, I long to trust the current again, and have my little boat taken gently along. My vessel doesn’t require my constant focused investment anymore — or not for a while, at least. Over the last year, the stream has gathered quite some momentum. I have come to know, and trust, and love it deeply.
I would like to move into the dark days with a lamp lit from my bow, relax and settle down with a warm blanket so as to look at the stars, and connect to my kindred souls, far and near. We are, more than ever, travelling down the same stream.
