Many winters I have seen. Each brings a closing and hints at latent possibilities. Opportunities that come in the form of dreams on long winter nights. The passing of time offers a continuous deepening of acquaintance with the ever more familiar way of things. Things change, they repeat, they evolve, and yet somehow seem the same. Looking deeper, we find that that sameness may offer new insight into the workings of old patterns.
Many winters I have seen, each is made different by having survived the last. Though they’ve varied in subtle ways, they are all winter. A time of reflection. Each with something to offer, to teach, to give. A time of dormancy and death, an opportunity for rebirth. In the words of Robert Frost, “I have miles to go before I sleep.” May the opportunity to dream of new beginnings and rebirth, change of heart, and change of mind mark our journeys until that cold December when we find we have seen too many winters.
I’m a bit of a foodie. Last night my dinner consisted of a pint of Guinness, half a bag of chips, and two handfuls of mixed nuts. Some of that was food…There you go!
Life is too short to drink skim milk!
These days Autumn may show it’s flush late, but it will still arrive. Daunting isolation looms over us casting its deep shadow, but all waves eventually crest and release to the shore. Society may seem irrevocably divided, but given time most wounds heal. Hope may seem fleeting, yet according to legend, it springs eternal.
These days are rife with disquiet. Hence, feeling “not ok” is ok. That said, history shows us that all the darkest moments of mankind set the stage for the uncommon brightness revealed in the eventuality of the new day. It is through struggle that we find purpose, meaning, and often personal rebirth. A renewed energy to live, love, give and receive.
May your mind make time to see the world of color this Autumn brings. May your heart be full of acceptance, understanding, and forgiveness. May your wellspring of hope overflow in response to the challenges we all face together in these days.
Hate is born of pain.
Pain is born of injury.
Injury has two mothers. They are Randomness and Cruelty. One unavoidable, the other unconscionable.
The wheel will continue to turn until the circle is broken.
In the meantime, perhaps it may be helpful to recognize that while the hateful welcome war, what they unknowingly hunger for is redemption.
An acquaintance from my skydiving days recently posted the following on social media;
“I’ll lick the handles of all the buggies at Walmart before I’ll vote for Biden.”
Well then, in the name of saving this country…get lickin’ bro.
P.S. For you yankees and westerners “buggy” is Southern speak for “shopping cart.”
The Weight of the World. Shoulder it. Drop it. Either way, the world continues, likely in a form very near to that in which it appeared prior to the decision.
The pressure of carrying the weight of the world may well crush one’s spirit. The guilt born of sloughing it can be emotionally corosive as well. The understanding that no one is born capable of managing such a burden is omitted from the Standard Operating Manual for Human Consciousness. Struggle, blame, shame, regret, recrimination all take center stage when someone decides there is “hell to pay!” Of course, there are also those who care nothing for the world or the others in it, but that topic is for another time.
So precious this opportunity to exist. And yet preciousness is, um, well, hmm, born of personal perspective. Once we’ve had the good fortune of life we will all in turn have the good fortune of passing beyond this time of living, to rest. How much will acute concerns about the pressing issues of the day matter in that eternal light?
It is neither positive nor negative.
It is simply a state of being.
Buddhists seek it.
The rest try to fill it.
Alas, relentless pouring yields no brimming of the cup, and in time reveals the true meaning of “infinite.”
Impressions made by that or those who are no longer with us claim a homestead in memory. The aroma of perfume. The furrowed shape left on a pillow. The now absent sound of laughter, breath, words, or shared silence. These empty spaces are footprints on a rain-soaked path in late spring. When the rains subside, the touch points left by those who traveled leave whispers. As summer comes on, these impressions are set in our memories by sun rays of connectedness and loss.
If one is making progress toward a given goal, no matter how slowly, self-affirmation is due in abundance. If one has a goal but is making no progress toward it, both the aim and the reasons for lack of progress are to be called into question. If one has no goals, yet lives with discontent, the reason, however elusive, is ultimately self. If one has no goals and lives in bliss, then all steps of the ladder of life lay behind them.