Writing is sorting. Writing down the stream of consciousness gives us a way to respect the mind, to choose among and harness thoughts, to interact with and change the contents of who we think we are. And that is what the spiritual journey is: a major change, over time, in who we think we are, followed by a corresponding change in what we believe ourselves capable of doing.
Life's Companion: Journal Writing as a Spiritual Quest>>>
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Fall is in the Air
Ah yes, the sun is shining once again and I treasure each of these golden days. August has been a bright month full of family gatherings and festivals. Did I mention my birthday is in August? August 18, to be exact. I have completed my 62nd year. Go, me! Life is good. I am a little sad to see the leaves starting to turn already, though, on the tall trees out back in the wildlife park. Our back yard is adjacent to a wildlife preserve area, how great is that? It’s the next best thing to living in the country.)The view brings me peace. I am a country gal at heart, seeing as how I was raised smack dab in the middle of wheat country it’s no wonder.My love of a simple and tranquil life runs in my blood.
I wax nostalgic this time of year. I suppose it is because of the transition from one season to another. For me the coming of autumn is bittersweet. Although I enjoy the harvest as life comes to fruition, I struggle with shorter days and colder weather.It seems silly to struggle, though. Isn’t the changing of the seasons all part of the Divine Plan of Mother Nature? I must learn to accept and adapt. That being said, I’ve got a stash of St. John’s wort in my cupboard and my private journal as therapy for the coming days just in case the Blue Meanies descend upon me. Thankfully there are the holidays to look forward to. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Off to the city today to celebrate my in law’s wedding anniversary and a combined birthday dinner. My in laws love to eat. They are taking us to a Mexican restaurant which is supposed to be one of the best in Seattle. Not formal dining, just excellent, authentic fare. I can handle that and I am looking forward to a margarita. We’ll spend the night tonight and go to a Mariners game tomorrow afternoon before returning home.
The autumn sky is pale and cold
and the faded sunlight offers little comfort
with its reminder of the winter to come.
Dying leaves in vivid hues of gold and red
detach from life and float to the earth,
as I, too, must let go
and accept change.