Trees get to dance, you know. I’ve seen them with my own eyes even though they instantly stop and pretend they were rooted all along. I caught this one today, decked out in his viney autumn garb, chanting the ancient songs of harvest, of reaping and gathering in. He was wonderful, and so still when he spotted me that no part of him moved, only the vine wound around him fluttering in the dry breeze. I walked on, pretending I believed he was nothing more than the broken trunk of a weathered tree. But the song of his spirit followed me across the whole, broad valley.
There they lie, empty, fallen forms, floating on light, their days of summer suddenly gone and all too soon. And here we stand, railing at the cold, at the emptiness their going leaves behind, clinging to it as if by clinging we could roll back time, and see them dancing still. Yet, even in our grieving, beneath its depths, we hear their laughter and their songs, blending with the Yes that dances within us and beyond, where time has no meaning and love wears no form.
Here, in the pine woods, standing at the feet of giants, it’s impossible to speak. What could you say anyway? How could mere words have any value? “Thank you,” perhaps. But you sense they already know what’s in your heart.
The world is in Humpty-Dumpty mode, teetering precariously on the edge of the wall, and today strong winds blow and fire shoots through the air and explodes from the earth, and dense clouds of surreality sail through the air.
Nevertheless, an island of peace rises from the calm lake and the colors of autumn sing.
Looking back on this September, in the year of 2024, you may think of firestorms and hurricanes, of lives destroyed or irrevocably changed. And you may be tempted to let sorrow overwhelm you. Life is always tenuous and danger often near. Our lessons in compassion come with a great price. But may you also remember, when you think back on this time, that its days held golden leaves and sunflowers dancing to the song of a gentle breeze, and that, as she was leaving, September left blue stars, shining from the grass, love notes to remind you that life goes on, and you, truly, are precious and loved.
Autumn’s flags wave from the trees. The woodland’s floor wears its first layer of fallen leaves, fluttering like a convention of butterflies meeting to trade stories of their flights. And so the dance goes on, the dancers giddy in their twirling, their flamboyant costumes shining in the afternoon sun, exposing to all the world the fire in their joyous souls.
Humans don’t come here, to this hallowed ground that, all summer, was the bed of a lake, covered in water three feet deep where ducks and terns swam and raised their young among the rushes. The only footprints at all are hooved ones. So I walk with reverence and care, filled with wonder at the sight of this magical expanse, so transformed, as it stretches, so revealed, in the afternoon light of the late September sun.
It was a beautiful week here in western Pennsylvania. September quickly brought summer to an end and is ushering in what promises to be a colorful autumn.
The goldenrod is glowing in the fields, and the leaves are beginning to fall. They crunch beneath your feet as you walk down a sidewalk or, if you’re lucky, down a woodland path.
The beauty was a comfort to me as day after day brought difficult news both from up close and afar. As one friend wrote, describing a devastating setback, “When a dream breaks, it hurts.”
Yes. It does. Life holds frightening, disappointing and painful times for us all. Sometimes it hurts almost more than we can bear.
The only healing salve I ever found for that kind of pain is kindness.
I learned that from Tara Brach, an American Buddhist and psychologist. “Say to yourself,” she advises, “’this is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.’”
Be kind. You never know what burden someone is carrying in silence. But above all, be kind to yourself.
When you’re in pain, recognize that what you are experiencing is universal; everyone suffers. You’re not alone in your suffering.
Part of self-compassion means you set aside, at least for the moment, your longing to have things be different than they are. Accept that you are hurting. Accept that you are angry, or deeply disappointed, or in pain, or that you feel abandoned or betrayed.
Accept that those feelings are part of being human and that it’s okay to feel them right now. Hold yourself as tenderly as you would hold a crying child.
Know, too, that all suffering is temporary. It exhausts itself, all of its own accord. It may return; it may come in waves. But always, it exhausts itself and finally gives way to a new perspective, and you go on.
Life isn’t static. It carries us into new circumstances at every moment. And at every moment, it offers us comfort and peace. As soon as we are ready to receive them, life’s gifts are there, waiting for us. And they wait with patience and love until we can be ready.
Sometimes it’s as simple as letting go of the story you’re telling yourself about how awful things are, and of waking up to the broader reality. Sometimes it takes a good meal, or a good night’s sleep, or some time with an understanding friend. Sometimes it takes a new idea, a willingness to try something new.
And sometimes it just takes the passage of time.
But whenever you’re ready, the side of life that’s good and beautiful will be waiting to meet you. Keep your faith in life alive.
Life can hurt, and life can be exquisitely beautiful. Go with the flow, shouting out, “What a ride! Oh, Thank You! What a ride!”
Suddenly the earth crunches beneath my boots, the soft grass covered with newly fallen leaves. I listen, silently laughing in delight. A year has passed since this music last played, this autumn sound, filled with nostalgia and childhood’s singing joy.
September, dear September, your last flowers open in salute, small tokens, but pure and from the earth’s very heart, in gratitude for the warmth of your days, the life you nurtured and raised, the harvest you brought to fruition. Take them with our thanks as you prepare to go, to remind you how, in our memories, you will always be golden and loved.
