Nightfall is arriving so much earlier than just a week ago, and the impending turn of the seasons hangs tangibly in the air.
I no longer slumber with the windows ajar; the smell of blackberries fermenting on the vine no longer infusing my dreams.
The overnight chill has crept in and I watch, wondering, if the last of my lanky sunflowers stretched skyward will have a chance to unfold before toppling under autumn winds.
As I walked lakeside alone this morning, I heard frog song for the first time in September, and as I navigated the path a slow, lingering dragonfly flew alongside of me for just a moment. With the return to school, and reduced summer visitors, there is a renewed sense of stillness on the lake; even the loon’s seem to have left for the season.
In my neighbourhood a derelict house that has stood empty for years, perhaps decades, was demolished the other day, and with the stack of rubble being cleared, a sense of possibility and potentiality fill the lot.
For me, summer was a season of immense mourning and transition and there felt a great parallel between daily life and that demolished shack.
I learned a lot about the power of surrender and being present with grief.
For the first time in my life, the garden was left to fend for itself, and it became my greatest spiritual teacher of the season, teaching me how to truly honour the limits of my capacity and let go.
In the journey of surrender and release, I also learned a lot about sitting in stillness and the re-centering power of sitting, observing and appreciating our breath.
Now I am feeling an inexplicable yearning to gather and pile stone cairns, to gaze upon spider webs, offer songs to the stars… and to bask.
Much like the freshly tilled void of my garden, and that demolished neighbourhood lot, I am being invited to tend to what now is and that which is wanting to unfold.
Rooting down, exploring what brings me unadulterated joy and diving into what it looks like (and what it feels like) to put myself first, profoundly first, probably, for the first time in my life.
Leaning into prayer and deepening my devotional practice, not one decreed by man, but one embodied by the turn of the seasons, the dance of the moon, and the rhythms of my body’s cycles. With the change of seasons, what pull are you feeling in your bones?
Want to honour your summer experience and cast your dreams for the season ahead?
Join me, Thursday September 22, for a virtual Autumnal Equinox Healing Ceremony in which we harness the energies of the balsamic moon and celebrate the turning of the seasons.
To ensure a soulful, intimate online gathering, space is limited to 8 participants. Last month this event sold out, so if you’re curious, I encourage you to check it out now when it’s fresh on your mind.
Beginning 8:38pm (PDT) Friday September 9, Mercury retrogrades at 8° 55’ Libra and will retrograde all the way back to 24° 12’ Virgo which he’ll hit on Sunday October 2 (2:07am) at which point he goes direct again. During which, he is making three distinct oppositions to Jupiter, the cosmic amplifier.
Online you’ll see a lot of articles and insights on what to expect during this retrograde. But the reality is, this is an immensely personal aspect and your experience will be unique unto you and your birth chart.
If you’ve had your chart cast, revisit it to see where the degrees of 24° Virgo and 8° Libra fall in your chart. Specifically: what houses is this happening in and are there any other planets present in that space?
For example, Mercury is retrograding in my sixth house of service and wellness, and knowing that, in the weeks ahead, I scheduled and held the space to revisit and polish an all new, upcoming offering– Cultivating Contentment: A Grateful Jar Experiment. Stay tuned for more information on that AFTER Mercury has gone direct.
Looking For A Good Read?
Over the summer I received a message from a reader who was re-reading The Grateful Jar Project. It lifted my then very still bruised spirit when she how much it was helping her shift her experience of feeling isolated. (If you happen to be reading this: thank you, again)
The Grateful Jar Project doesn’t philosophize an attitude of gratitude, moving beyond theory, it vulnerably demonstrates the navigation of a painful year of dramatic change and profound redirection.
That’s it in a (very large) nutshell, my friends.
What summer taught me, the balm that annointed my broken heart and the invitation to tend to what is while leaning into cultivating contentment.
Maybe I’ll see you at the Autumnal Equinox Healing Ceremony on Thursday the 22nd.
If you have any questions regarding the event, please don’t hesitate to let me know.
Thumpity thump thump…
Thumpity thump thump…
Beats my grateful, grateful heart.