Today is the day when the night and the day are split equally — a perfect balance of dark and light. Masculine and feminine energies, creative incubation and beautiful manifestation.
During this time of year, of course, the chlorophyll in leaves fades, taking the green with it. Therefore, the “true colors” of the leaves begin to emerge, in rich earthy tones of red, brown, orange and yellow. Even here in Florida.
As I’ve come into a more natural balance these past few years, I’ve been able to learn a bit more about my own true colors.
I am a leaf.
I have an edge.
Changing with the changed.
Friday morning, my son caught a ride to school with a friend. Could this be, after all these years, the end of an era of me driving him to school? If so, what will I do with this opening, this change in the composition of my day?
Already, my heart aches a little, thinking about it — even though I am cautiously optimistic about this being a good thing. For example, he’s a lot more motivated to get up on time! He actually got to school four minutes early (as opposed to four minutes late, our usual pattern.)
So there are other questions: As I enter the fall of my life, the harvest season, what true colors will be revealed? How will I let go, like a leaf, and fall, in this era of post child-bearing years?
I would like to fall gracefully, beautifully, having served a worthy, life-giving purpose: to have nurtured my own beautiful children and allowed them to learn their own true colors.
Not that I’m ready to give it all up quite yet! I do have the next 40 years of my life (at least!) to better learn my own true nature, and to watch, to wait, and see how my children’s colors will emerge.
Last night, at 2:02 a.m., my daughter texted me from college: “I love you Mom.” As my son left Friday, he turned and gave me a quick, kind glance. I am grateful, very grateful, today, to have two such lovely children, who are learning about themselves and what they truly value, in a loving, balanced, and kind way.
As am I.
In the garden.
3 responses to “Fall Equinox: I am a Leaf”
She Let Go, by Rev. Safire Rose
She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a book on how to let go. She didn’t search the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all of the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go. She didn’t journal about it. She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go. She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter. She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn’t call the prayer line. She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.
A Stillness Has Come by Cathleen Callahan
The equinox has brought stillness
to the rain-washed air
beneath this low-slung, newly autumn sky.
No cicadas drum,
no birds sing,
no squirrels click messages to companions
curled in hollowed trees,
as though this morning rests
in the space between heartbeats.
Only a single fly visits as I read
of alchemy and rebirth,
perching on a lemony crumb
of a poppy seed muffin
before I flick it away.
Does it notice the stillness, too,
the solitariness of its flight?
Or is it simply fixed
on landing undetected?
September 25, 2013
Thank you, Cathy, for this lovely poem!!!