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About this time every year, I find myself in a state of autumn longing. While I try to remain present to the gifts of warmth and light, the hot, humid, languid days challenge my capacity to think clearly and get things done. When the air cools and the light starts to shift, I find myself coming more alive. So, by the end of August, I am ready. I’m ready to move back into routine and the grounding that summer just doesn’t offer me.
For many, this is a time when anxiety begins to slowly creep back in. As the sun lowers itself in the sky earlier and earlier each day as we approach the Autumnal Equinox, there is a growing dread of the harsh winter that lies ahead. Our ancestors, who lived closer to the Earth, also knew this dread. For them, it was often a matter of physical survival as they gathered to face the cold and dark months when the bitter snow blanketed the hunting grounds and the vegetation lay dormant and unyielding. Yet, they found ways to celebrate the end of summer and its bounty through Harvest Festivals that allowed them to come together as a community to share the gratitude they had for all the Earth had provided to help them through the winter. Even in years when the bounty was less than expected and survival felt less certain, there was gratitude. That is the practice I turn to now each year as we transition between the summer and autumn seasons. Where is the overlooked abundance in my life that I need to acknowledge? Even if the harvest hasn’t been what I hoped for, what have been the gifts of this season as it draws to a close? What have I taken for granted or forgotten to celebrate? And how can this bounty help me through the dark times that inevitably lie ahead? Blessings on your journey, Louisa
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For the last thirty or so years, I have been spending of bit of time each summer in Central and upstate New York. This isn’t surprising as it’s the birthplace of so many art forms that I’ve trained in such as playback theatre and psychodrama. But there is something deeper has drawn me to this part of the country year after year.
There is a strange peace, wildness, and beauty to this land, driving north through the Hudson Valley. Somehow the verdant landscape makes it feel implausible that a city of 8 million lies just an hour behind you. The serpentine mountain roads leading through the Catskills invite you into reverie and wonder. Imagine the anachronistic blacktop road weaving back and forth through swaths of primordial forests, where the canopy allows only occasional dappled sunlight through. There is a gentle softness as the breeze choreographs an adagio for the branches and leaves. Occasionally a manicured lawn appears, a beloved and well-tended flower bed signifying that you are not lost in the wilderness, but that human life has been secreted away from the road, tucked into the wild. Now, I am someone who really likes the blacktop. I like to know where I’m going and see the destination as soon as I get in the car. I like to know how long it will take to get there and where the route closures lie ahead so I can plan an alternate route so as not to waste time. If you have lived in the mountains, you know the frustration of spotty internet and cell phone reception. Driving without GPS that day was initially a bit frightening, even though I had driven thousands of miles without it before. I passed only a handful of cars as I traversed the mountainous path, hugging the county roads for guidance. Once I was able to let go of my anxiety about finding my destination or arriving at the appointed time, I was truly able to appreciate the teaching that unfolded before me. Here’s what nature taught me in the Catskills on a Saturday morning drive:
Blessings on your journey, Louisa |
AuthorLouisa has always enjoyed writing and is thrilled that she now has a way to share her musings with a larger community of like-minded seekers. Her writing is often an extension and exploration of the struggles she faces in integrating her own spirituality, scholarly study, life experience, and nuggets of brilliance from her teachers in the hopes that it might alchemically transform itself into something approximating wisdom. Archives
August 2024
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