Time, like liquid,
spirals down into Autumn.
One day, the sun pours over the scarlet leaves like amber;
the next, grey curtains of rain wash the brown hills & nourish them for winter.
Time, like liquid, spirals season into season.
Lately, I have been exploring art journals as another expression of creativity. I am still very much on square one with this process, but I have an idea of how I want to play with this small stone on a prepared page. Until the page is painted and scribed, I leave you with the words I was playing with this morning.
the sun rose, though it was veiled by rain clouds and falling autumn leaves.
I went to work. I read (with pride) my daughter’s Facebook post schooling those who dared to blame yesterday’s results on people who ‘threw away their vote on a third party candidate’. (I’ve been a card carrying Green longer than her friends have been alive.)
I listened to people gloat and to those who were depressed. To both, I wanted to whisper, “Wake up and smell the Pleroma.” It is all just an illusion…
Today, I determined that I will live as I lived on Monday. I will speak my mind; support those who have fallen; say ‘no’ when it is needed and to whom needs to hear it; I will dance under sun and moonlight, whispering heresies to the trees; and I will continue to work toward humanity waking up to its birthright — no matter how much they may not deserve it. (Shades of A. Hamilton…)
Tomorrow, the sun will shine. My dog will greet me with a smile, and my cats will cozy up to me, and I will go to work and hope for more small behavioural breakthroughs with my students. And I will resist creatively… and fiercely.
I will be the witch in service to the land — though it poison some as it heals others.
These words have brought me comfort and no small sense of hope as I reflect on the past few years. With these words as my guide, I can see my fallow times as needed pauses in nature’s rhythmical motion and not mere idleness.
Nature is ever at work building & pulling down, creating & destroying, keeping everything whirling & flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another.
With the (dubious) benefit of hindsight, I can also see these fallow times as treading water. For a long time, I had thought these fallow time were low-tides… all creative energy, inspiration, and desire was gone. It felt like the well was dry, and all that was stretched out before me was a barren mudflat. This summer, my view of reality shifted. In this refocusing, I saw that I was really treading water in a high tide of external demands, worries, and responsibilities. It was the act of moving that helped me start this shift in perception. Like the tide going out on the shore, hidden treasures have been uncovered and for me, rediscovered.
This season is giving me the chance to back track to myself. I can look at all the parts exposed. I can marvel at what I find; examine each thing and choose whether or not I will keep it in my life. It is a rich landscape, filled with treasures and teeming with potential to be explored.
An endless song, indeed.