letting go
Sep. 15th, 2005 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chelidonThe season is turning here in northern New England. The last sweet, hardy blackberries have been picked, the raspberries are long gone, the cherry tomatos are coming faster than we can eat 'em, and some of the leaves of the scraggly undergrowth and the smaller, lower, young and hopeful trees have turned from their summer greens to vivid yellows, russets and umbers. Every so often, up on a hillside, you see a lone wild tree that's decided to suddenly burst into its Fall colors and turn, its lonely brilliance and avant-garde extravagence in stark contrast to its more staid and conservative neighbors, who are waiting patiently until the time is right, not wishing to be seen as being too showy or in unseemly haste. The brilliant reds and explosive oranges of the Sugar Maples, the glorious, gorgeous Fall foliage that people come from all over the world to see, won't begin to peak for a few weeks yet, but yes, you can feel the winter approaching. The owls cry their nighttime calls with increasing melancholy, and the last few love-lorn crickets begin to sound vaguely panicked.
We had a warm snap this week, with highs in the low 80s early in the week (and a Monday drive I took into Boston had heat in the low *90's*, considered close to the melting point of lead hereabouts), but today's high, after a delicious and much-needed raucous thunderstorm, was a more normal 75, and the high on Sunday is forecast for 64 degrees. No freeze warnings yet, it's still no lower than 40s and 50s at night, but it's coming, mere weeks away, you can feel it, though the air hasn't yet begun to smell like Winter. the hiking is perfect -- cool, crisp air and almost no bugs, most of the summer visitors gone, woods and mountains lonely and widely open to long solitary wanderings.
September and October are paradoxically times of slowing down and speeding up. With the turning of the seasons, the long series of summer harvests begin shifting over to the increasingly insistant preparations for winter, all of which seem to begin with a "better" (better regravel that patch of road, better drop some boulders on that streambank, better finish laying in the firewood, better finish fixing that garage door, etc etc). There's so much to do, so much quietly busy hurried activity, before the coming slow, somnambulant hibernations, the long nights, short days, and quiet contemplations of winter.
I am eagerly anticipating those hibernations, though it may be unseemly to be too eager about such things -- eagerness is a Spring, a Summer emotion. Things in the winter percolate, they are distilled, they slumber and doze and dream and plan for the coming warm days, those days which are dimly perceived and hoped for, even as the snow piles up and the earth is covered in soft pillows of crisp, pure fluffy whiteness.
And as is appropriate for the season, my thoughts and inner compass turn now to endings. Some endings are completions, natural ends of natural cycles -- projects finished, harvests done, accomplishments and finalities. Others are endings of another kind -- lives, loves and joys curtailed, plants that never bore fruit, berry or seed, unwise, imprudent or poorly-timed choices and initiations. Regrets of these choices crowd about like neglected children, but most of them are ephemeral, wistful but needless, best duly acknowledged and then turned from as soon as possible, lest they become sticky traps of melancholy sentiment. This is a good time of the year to catalogue your accomplishments, take stock of your harvests, good or ill, store away what you need to make it through the winter, and, hardest of all, let go of what you no longer need. Hopeless dreams, stillborn projects, failed crops, all those things and situations into which energy was put, and which bore no harvest...Fall is a time for culling, and for acts of sacred sacrifice. Too much sentimentality now comes back to bite you, and suck, drain precious energy over the long, slow winter. Too many mouths to feed, too many projects, too many committments, too much energy going out and not enough coming in...in Spring and Summer these are foolish, but in Winter, all of these are dangerous, even fatal if allowed to continue past their time. Spring cleaning is a good thing, but Fall is a time, more than any other, to focus and simplify.
As we approach Equinox, it is a good time to think of balance. Where is there balance in your life, and where is there imbalance? What will sustain you over the winter, and what will drain you dry and make it harder to find your way through to the new fruiting and sprouting of Spring? What is life-sustaining, enriching, fulfilling, and what instead empties you?
Take joy in your harvests, and in your failures. Both teach you something, and both have a natural point of completion, beyond which it is time to give up, let go, and move on. The good harvests can be brought in from the fields where they grew, then enjoyed, and divided between what will be consumed and what will be stored away to plant in the coming year. Failed harvests should be plowed under, enriching the soil for the future. Harvests and failures alike which are held onto overlong will simply rot and become foul and corrupt. And the rot can spread, to other areas of your life, unless you turn it under as compost, and let it go. That's what Fall whispers...get ready, build your reserves, and simplify, simplify, simplify. Assess what you really, truly need, carrying only that which is true, beautiful, useful or needed with you into the year to come. Let go of the rest, without regrets or longings. It is what it is. Release what isn't, and prepare for the slow days of dreaming, and the possibly lean times ahead. If you are prudent with your Self, with your harvests, you will not starve. Winter will come, and after that, Spring. The sun will return, the ground will thaw, and those precious seeds you set aside now will find fertile ground in which to bear rich new fruit. That's a promise.
We had a warm snap this week, with highs in the low 80s early in the week (and a Monday drive I took into Boston had heat in the low *90's*, considered close to the melting point of lead hereabouts), but today's high, after a delicious and much-needed raucous thunderstorm, was a more normal 75, and the high on Sunday is forecast for 64 degrees. No freeze warnings yet, it's still no lower than 40s and 50s at night, but it's coming, mere weeks away, you can feel it, though the air hasn't yet begun to smell like Winter. the hiking is perfect -- cool, crisp air and almost no bugs, most of the summer visitors gone, woods and mountains lonely and widely open to long solitary wanderings.
September and October are paradoxically times of slowing down and speeding up. With the turning of the seasons, the long series of summer harvests begin shifting over to the increasingly insistant preparations for winter, all of which seem to begin with a "better" (better regravel that patch of road, better drop some boulders on that streambank, better finish laying in the firewood, better finish fixing that garage door, etc etc). There's so much to do, so much quietly busy hurried activity, before the coming slow, somnambulant hibernations, the long nights, short days, and quiet contemplations of winter.
I am eagerly anticipating those hibernations, though it may be unseemly to be too eager about such things -- eagerness is a Spring, a Summer emotion. Things in the winter percolate, they are distilled, they slumber and doze and dream and plan for the coming warm days, those days which are dimly perceived and hoped for, even as the snow piles up and the earth is covered in soft pillows of crisp, pure fluffy whiteness.
And as is appropriate for the season, my thoughts and inner compass turn now to endings. Some endings are completions, natural ends of natural cycles -- projects finished, harvests done, accomplishments and finalities. Others are endings of another kind -- lives, loves and joys curtailed, plants that never bore fruit, berry or seed, unwise, imprudent or poorly-timed choices and initiations. Regrets of these choices crowd about like neglected children, but most of them are ephemeral, wistful but needless, best duly acknowledged and then turned from as soon as possible, lest they become sticky traps of melancholy sentiment. This is a good time of the year to catalogue your accomplishments, take stock of your harvests, good or ill, store away what you need to make it through the winter, and, hardest of all, let go of what you no longer need. Hopeless dreams, stillborn projects, failed crops, all those things and situations into which energy was put, and which bore no harvest...Fall is a time for culling, and for acts of sacred sacrifice. Too much sentimentality now comes back to bite you, and suck, drain precious energy over the long, slow winter. Too many mouths to feed, too many projects, too many committments, too much energy going out and not enough coming in...in Spring and Summer these are foolish, but in Winter, all of these are dangerous, even fatal if allowed to continue past their time. Spring cleaning is a good thing, but Fall is a time, more than any other, to focus and simplify.
As we approach Equinox, it is a good time to think of balance. Where is there balance in your life, and where is there imbalance? What will sustain you over the winter, and what will drain you dry and make it harder to find your way through to the new fruiting and sprouting of Spring? What is life-sustaining, enriching, fulfilling, and what instead empties you?
Take joy in your harvests, and in your failures. Both teach you something, and both have a natural point of completion, beyond which it is time to give up, let go, and move on. The good harvests can be brought in from the fields where they grew, then enjoyed, and divided between what will be consumed and what will be stored away to plant in the coming year. Failed harvests should be plowed under, enriching the soil for the future. Harvests and failures alike which are held onto overlong will simply rot and become foul and corrupt. And the rot can spread, to other areas of your life, unless you turn it under as compost, and let it go. That's what Fall whispers...get ready, build your reserves, and simplify, simplify, simplify. Assess what you really, truly need, carrying only that which is true, beautiful, useful or needed with you into the year to come. Let go of the rest, without regrets or longings. It is what it is. Release what isn't, and prepare for the slow days of dreaming, and the possibly lean times ahead. If you are prudent with your Self, with your harvests, you will not starve. Winter will come, and after that, Spring. The sun will return, the ground will thaw, and those precious seeds you set aside now will find fertile ground in which to bear rich new fruit. That's a promise.
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no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 08:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-15 11:53 pm (UTC)At a lower latitude, we are now acclimating to re-busy-ness, as it was too hot for much activity, until now. But the urging to simplify, simplify, simplify is "a good watchword", as it is tempting to overwhelm myself with too much doings, however temperate the weather.
Heart,
- Julia
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 09:02 pm (UTC)I hear ya -- summer where you are is a good time to lay low, in some intensely air-conditioned haven. By the time I'm out there in a few weeks, I'll be getting good and used to crisp Fall air, it'll be a bit of acclimatizin' both ways, I figure.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 03:56 am (UTC)always interesting how inner landscapes often cycle through the rhythm of seasons, sometimes synchronously...
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-26 03:21 pm (UTC)