dear sojourners,
we tipped past the autumnal equinox in the northern hemisphere the other day. last time i posted summer solstice was cresting. a whole season of blue Sky days. farmers’ markets brimming with assorted Berries, leafy Greens, sweet Melons—all in abundance. morning and evening walks filled with light. a season of t-shirts and shorts. sitting outside conversing and sipping tea with friends at local cafes. a delight. truth: i was not as as enthusiastic as this paragraph sounds.
this is all to say when the solstice arrived it was like a switch flipped in me. some days i felt like i had left my body. my creative juices a parched rivulet begging for a rainstorm. sure, thoughts pushed through the caking mud of the stream bed and made it into my journal. “later,’ i promised, “i’ll find other spaces for you later.” i didn’t have the energy to take anything further. so i allowed myself permission to find what shade i could and not chastise myself with the old western cultural imperative to be “productive.”
i also came across an article about summer SAD (seasonal affective disorder) that “explained” my malaise. folks may be familiar with the “long dark of winter” version of SAD, but there are those who find the heat of summer interferes with their sleep and daily living. the imperative to “make use of every drop of extended sunlight.” and while i didn’t meet every criteria, it felt affirming to me to have a name for what i was experiencing. i simply wasn’t relishing summer and wanted to move on to the next season. it was an extra challenging invitation to be present each day. to “live in the moment.” ugh.
then one day in early september, i noticed the morning was still dark when i arose, a reminder that these Sun, Earth, Moon cycles have been ongoing far longer than even my deepest marrow memories.
i was able to sit outside in the early evenings and watch scatterings of Crows fly home to roost. west to east they soar in “murders” of 3, 10, 23, or more dotting the shapeshifting Sky as Sun set. i felt myself drop back into my body as i wondered about their day. this instinctual call to return home resonates. to gather. my kinship with Crows deepened as the skies darkened into dusk.
and like Crickets that are silent in summer and awaken as summer wanes, my own inner chirps began to fill the still places within. podcasts i was listening to re-invigorated me. my curiosity sparked. my wandering-pondering mind started igniting.
summer wasn’t without insights. without Grief. though i monitor/restrict my social media and news intake, as an empath, my dreams reflect the horrors and violence taking place in our world. my heart would have to no longer beat to not weep with the atrocities taking place in the country i reside. in Gaza, Sudan, and well, just about anywhere. how to take it in…or through…my body? my being? perhaps i needed to withdraw this summer to reemerge this autumn, a season of harvest and decay. a season of growing darkness…a necessary darkness, a place of gestation. incubation.
Francis Weller, psychotherapist, writer and soul activist, has a new book out, In the Absence of the Ordinary, Soul Work for Times of Uncertainty. he was interviewed by Ned Buskirk on the You’re Going to Die podcast september 11. Weller’s previous book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, uprooted my approach to Grief and Loss after reading it. i recommend a listen to the podcast if you are wondering how to respond in these unsettled, uncertain times. he shares about how western culture is not a “living culture.” about emptiness. he comes back to themes that resonate with me, such as Deep Time and how to be in the darkness (themes i have written about in years past on my Nurture Your Journey blog. (link is to one example.)) i have just started reading the book and will come back to it in future posts.
i’ve also been reading posts by Báyò Akómoláfé on his website and facebook page that are, as usual, challenging my beliefs. beliefs i hadn’t even named. stretching me way beyond where i am comfortable. one is the idea of that “sanctuary is not a place.” i’ve been trying to explore how to reflect that in my life with minimal success, but then, how do i measure success? a slippery word if ever there was one. like i said, Báyò stretches me. perhaps as i enter into the dark seasons of autumn and winter a practice will emerge. perhaps it has been gestating during my fallow summer. if you head over to the link and the writing stirs something in you, i’d be interested in your thoughts on sanctuary.
i listen to a podcast called “Wild for Scotland” (surprising, i know.) usually about places to visit, a recent one (8/26) shared about The Clearances in the Highlands, close to where i visited last May. how did i miss this history with all the museums i walked through? overwhelmed by my injury? not ready to receive? Wild for Scotland linked to a follow-up podcast, Highlands Reimagined that shared about concerns the current highlands face about affordability for their young population that was fascinating and felt relevant beyond the local. it got me thinking about immigration (modern and times past.) wealth as Land distribution and our western belief we “own” Land. about many usa small farmers (who are on Land that was populated by indigenous tribes originally and had a different relationship with Land) being on the brink of bankruptcy and will likely be displaced by wealthy Land owners (aka—agi-businesses). and age old pattern. so this is something i definitely plan to come back to.
so even as we await steady rains to alleviate drought conditions in the pacific nw where i live, my personal drought has been quenched. if i go back though my journal (i was faithful to my journal even while i was quiet here) i know there is more, plus new ponderings arising. i see i have new subscribers. thank you for subscribing even as there were no new offerings!
my summer did have one impactful event. something that kept me grounded. my feet literally on the ground every day and got me outside no matter what was going on inside my mental or spiritual space. i adopted a seven-year old rescue pup, Joey the Joy pug. sweet with a bit of sass. as the calendar turns from summer to autumn he has been with me 13 weeks. his stamina has increased to 3.5 mile walks, when he is in the mood. and i discovered recently he loves chasing a ball—so basically obsessed. the only issue: he does not know why i should every leave my abode without him! nothing like having a fur family member to keep one grounded.
as we walked the neighborhood at a pug’s pace (also known as a crawl,) i looked with fresh eyes: Cedars, Maples, Oaks and other stalwart Trees shading Salmonberry, Serviceberry and other shrubs ripe with fruit for the Birds i heard singing. aromatic Roses offering free sniffs. Barred Owl and Cooper’s Hawk on separate occasions resting on Douglas Fir branches. and the Sunflower at the edge of a ragged green space. oh the Sunflower.
a wild offering from scat, i noticed this thin-stalk beauty as first flowers with tight fists loosening to release an array of yellow sunbeams. not near a water source, i wondered how it had managed to grow after long periods without rain. and so on days our walk would pass by Sunflower, i watched the slow opening and said my “hellos” and offer gratitude. then, shortly after the first three blossoms fully opened, someone had broken them off! i assume a human as it looked intentional, but i can’t know. i felt sad. this spark of beauty during a time of unsettledness…to have it, yes, i’ll use the word, violently rent from the body, seemed to mirror our times. would Sunflower have enough oomph to bloom the other blossoms on the stalk? there were several more “pending.” so over the days, i watched. and yes my fellow sojourners, they began to bloom. and my heart felt lighter. and if anyone passed by while i was there i would point out the marvel of Sunflower. i offered gratitude. shared photos with a friend. older blooms shed petals making way for seeds to fall. there were more blooms to anticipate! a bounty of blooms.
perhaps you can you guess where this is going. the other day as i approached Sunflower i saw only a torn stalk. no blooms. no promise of future blooms. again, what seemed to be a violent separation of beauty from the source. i hope whoever (again assuming it was a human) broke flowers from stem took home the blooms, put them in water, and are enjoying the joy. for me this Sunflower feels bigger than one plant at the end of a ragged space. a refugee? an immigrant? a reflection of resilience? maybe. i’d be curious to know your thoughts.
the unsettledness of the world—it’s a lot. how do we enter into the “long dark” as Weller names what is unfolding, is the invitation. i am (mostly) comfortable with the dark. i seek beauty and awe. i no longer look for answers or try to fix. i allow for my own complexities and confusion (i am often confused.) following dandelion seeds is my pondering in the midst of my confusion. my wonderings. and my gratitude that i have a place to share.
for your reflection:
how do you respond to uncertainty? how are you coping?
if you live somewhere where the darkness is increasing, how is that for you? what are your beliefs about “dark” vs “light”? feel free to take this as metaphor.
in this world that is constantly shifting, how are you being kind to yourself and others?
when you are out and about, however that looks for you (it might even be in your imaginal world) what do you notice? how do you engage?
please take soft and tender care of your hearts and the Beings (human and other) you meet going about your day.
in gratitude,
anne
ps: wearing my Nurture Your Journey hat, i did a presentation on Ambiguous Loss in Dementia Care in August that is available on YouTube through Hope Dementia Support. if you are caring for or know someone who is caring for someone with dementia or just want to more information on Grief and Loss related to dementia support, take a peek. it is about 1.5 hours long.