I walk the hillside gathering twigs that I will use as tinder for fires on cold nights, an autumn custom that I began a couple decades ago. The air carries the fragrance of fallen leaves and coming rain. For one brief moment, the sun breaks through the layers of cloud and I turn to see it kiss the treetops as they dance, tall and bright, against the charcoal sky. I add the moment to my twig bin along with a fallen gold leaf. Remind me, I say to it, the next time that I touch you, of this warm and shining day when I saw the sun brushing the mid-October leaves and watched them shimmer in its light.
You show us our greediness, autumn. We walk through your perfect falling leaves, through the exquisite textures and colors of you, grasping the moment so tightly, wanting it never to end, or at least to slow so we can take in every detail. And yet the dance itself is at the heart of the beauty. And the song can only sing if we let the music play.
This air, these cycling seasons, this rocky island on which we stand, these trees, every blade of grass, every drop of rain, this brilliant sunshine, this tumultuous variety of shape and color and form, was given to us all. Not to an elite, however defined. Not conditioned by anyone’s notion of worthiness. But freely, to teach and bring comfort and joy.
It looks like a scene from another world, and I suppose it is. Or a portrait perhaps of another time, long ago. And that, I suppose, depends on how you measure time and whether you even believe in it at all anymore, what with things passing by at such a breakneck speed these days. Nevertheless, at early twilight on a day I call yesterday I turned down the road just in time to see a line of turkey hens, or so I guessed them to be, blending in with the early evening shadows as they moseyed across the road, and disappeared into the brush.
Beneath a cloud-heaped sky that dwarfs them, the cattle graze, happy for their still-green pasture, the cool air. They may be oblivious to time, but like the autumn trees that edge their world, something deep within them knows the seasons. Perhaps vague memories of winter float through their minds, long days in the dim light of the barn, feeding on hay, soaking in the warmth of each other’s bodies. Perhaps they smell the coming snow. Nevertheless, today the pasture is wide, the grass still green, and they are content, grazing beneath the wide big sky.
Stand beneath the heavens, beneath the vast canopy spread above you to remind you that, although you are not supreme, you are valued enough to warrant rain, adored enough to be given fragrant winds, loved enough to be granted the sight of this glorious, cloud-strewn sky.
The way they lined the roadway in the spotlight of the sun, vines wrapped around them like fine silken scarves, they reminded me of ladies from the 40’s, parading down the sidewalk on a Sunday afternoon, flaunting their fashions, showing off their style.
In the blink of an eye, it all could be gone. And from the looks of things, the possibility looms large. But come what may, this scene, strewn with its countless emerald gifts, is imprinted on my soul and will sing the One Song beyond the edge of time.
How can we keep our balance and our sanity when the world seems insane?
I’ve been asking myself that question all week as I watched the news about the devastation wrought by Hurricane Helene.
Then, as I sat down to gather the thoughts I want to share with you, I learned that a second storm is heading for Florida and is predicted to reach hurricane level before reaching landfall mid week.
And that’s not the only news coming across the airwaves. I’m hearing of intense missile attacks on Israel as I write.
We live in perilous times.
In the face of all that we’re confronting, I want to share two pieces of practical advice that I hope will be of value to you.
Facing Emergencies
The first is about what to do when you’re personally confronting an emergency. I read it in a book on self-hypnosis I borrowed from the library when I was a kid.
“Memorize this,” the book said. “Repeat it over and over whenever you can. Then it will be there for you when you need it.”
I did what it said, and I can truly say that it probably saved my life more than once. It’s a little chant that goes like this:
Relax.
Think Fast.
Do What is Necessary.
Please commit those simple words to memory. And practice releasing tension from all your muscles as you do. See what it feels like to be relaxed and totally aware of your surroundings at the same time.
(As a bonus, I’ll add a bit of counsel from Fred Rogers. “Whenever you’re in trouble,” he said. “Always look for the helpers.” That’s one worth tucking in your pocket, too.)
Dealing with Catastrophe
The second offering I have for you is about how to get through life when the world seems to be collapsing all around us.
Back when the Twin Towers were destroyed in 2001, one of the pioneers in the field of positive psychology took a look at how her students had fared during the crisis.
She found that they fared well. They had learned that it was healthy to be honest with themselves about their feelings and they paid attention to their sorrow, and shock, and grief.
But they also payed attention to the acts of courage, and heroism, and kindness that they saw and gave emphasis to them in their recall of the events.
They looked to their personal strengths and found ways to use them to help themselves and others deal with the trauma.
Resiliency is founded in paying attention to the needs of those around us and to giving comfort and help where we can.
The key is to lean into the wind of misfortune and let it awaken us to our shared humanity, to offer assistance where we can, to lend our strength to the weak, and to dare to believe in our strength and resilience. Because they’re real, you know. Humans find ways to rise to the challenges before them.
I stumbled on a quote this week that said, “It is what it is . . . but it will become what you make of it.”
Whatever situation you’re facing, whether it’s painful empathy for the misfortunes of others or for misfortune of your own, you can use the situation to find and express the highest and best in yourself. And remember, the highest and best is always rooted in love—for yourself, for your fellow beings, for the gift of life itself in all its pain and all its glory.
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.
