Shafts of light against mature bark, brown and warm. Red and yellow curved edges happily floating on a clear gentle stream. Soil dusty and tamped down from satisfied hikers.
It should be beautiful but for some it’s not. It is shafts of low light bringing another day to an end and all that has changed is the day. Red and yellow curved edges that will soon brown and freeze solid in place, another moment without result. Soil dusty as air out of hopeful breaths that life will be different and it isn’t. It’s the same. The desire but not the outcome.
The pandemic has touched everyone. It is oddly fascinating that everything has changed but it’s still the same. And I fear another year ending, another holiday season approaching, another day full of change without outcome.
I walk slowly having made it to the top. My breath slows and returns to normal and I am grateful that this moment brings me peace in the clouds and mist, because the path that I am on honors my true self.
May you be aware of the gift that is life.
May you use this opportunity wisely and be the best expression of love that you can be. Even when it’s hard. Even when you begin to age and your body begins to stiffen and the younger generation takes up more space. Even when you are less useful.
Still then, may you be peace and love.
When love is in reach but you hesitate because you still don’t believe in yourself and all the color of this year is at your feet, gone. Before you a path, adventure, yet you focus on the roots, and the rocks, and the soil.
Bring your awareness to the green, the leaves yet to turn, the experiences yet to color your life, the future. As the squirrel gathers crab apples from the tree, finding just the right one and nibbling to it’s core. Knowing that it’s harvest. Knowing that more yellow and brown leaves will fall and the trees will soon be barren in frigid wind and short light.
The colors curled and dry. The tourists hungry and driven to brighten their lives. The cool night air scented with fire pits and ions, calling them to inhale and gather their soup recipes.
All that you want to say, to speak, to birth. Every expression of every conclusion you’ve come to now grows, and brings life ever changing as clusters of thoughts emanating from your lips, entangled and sewn as jewels on a string.
Sometimes our realizations come as a whole that we can see from any angle and all angles. Complete thoughts have to be dissected into manageable portions that we can communicate or we end up just jumbling our thoughts and our words. These moments are precious and important.
In meditation we find the string that holds the jewels.
Finding balance in society so that you are in alignment with what is expected and so that your shadow falls within the dried needles of another.
Rusty comes from a long line of firefighters. His Irish heritage not only gives him his red hair and blue eyes but also a passion for helping out in an emergency. Most of his family are fighting fires in the city. He’s out west trying to save the big trees.
We’re so thankful that he and others are willing to risk their lives every day. Thank you.
Mike is still working remotely. Normally he’d be out on his bike right after work during the cool September early evenings, but since he’s been home all he can do is think about projects.
Instead of fresh air and exercise he’s spackling and painting, sanding and hammering, and drawing and measuring. His youngest daughter is finally off to college and since he’s not sure what the school year will look like with COVID he’s been fixing up her room, and the living room, and the kitchen, and every other place he and his wife have decided to update. Like an octopus fixing it’s nest in stormy water, Mike has a hand in everything.