TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON…
Another season has passed. My final guided meditation walk, through a lush sculpture garden,
was replete with poetry, sadness, and hope. It truly seemed like yesterday when the buds were
just forming, the bull frogs in the pond were in full-throated glory, and the summer lay
beckoning. Nothing had changed from last spring. The circle of life continues uninterrupted.
This last walk. I noticed how most of the flowers have shed their color, the sun tilted through
the trees at a slightly sharper angle, and the leaves floated down carpeting the well-trodden
path.
My silent mediation was, “May I be here next spring to share in another cycle.” No, no alarm,
I’m not dying! Well, we’re all dying, but I am in chipper health. However, I have learned not to
take anything for granted. I wanted to both notice and be grateful for the beauty of this day
and also cherish the hope to begin again next year. And as I walk, my eyes are drawn to a
beautiful, new bright pink flower, just starting to bloom. Autumn is its season to shine. Among
the slowly fading colors, a bright new beginning. Hope.
Why not be curious about what might bloom in your life, no matter what season you are in?
Some dreams and hopes need to ferment, grow within us, for many years, before blossoming.
The seeds have been there, awaiting their season.
I have always loved writing but knew I was a sloppy, inpatient writer. I had neither the patience,
nor the knowledge, to hone my craft. I didn’t take it seriously. It was just “fun.” But as the years
passed, I’ve decided to risk embracing my craft earnestly. A scary proposition. Mom was the
writer in the family, I didn’t dare intrude on her sacred territory. But she is no longer around,
just the habit of her.
So now, Grandma Moses and I will welcome our passions later in life. What better way to reach
into my grab bag of ideas than to write a children’s book about a brave carousel horse that
risked his safety for the love of a child. Well, I never thought of myself as a carousel horse but
his growth reflects mine from timid to courageous.
Part of our meditation walk is to amble through, what our leader describes as a “Psychic Car
Wash.” A beautiful long arbor draped with vines, roses, and wisteria. He reminds us to notice
the energy coming up from under the ground. How the roots of these beautiful flowers are the
wellspring from which they grow.
How like us humans. What we see is the external expression of what is buried deep in our souls,
perhaps in our unconscious. It is there that the wellspring of our creativity and joy is born and
nurtured. Without judgement, ask yourself what dreams, yearnings, hopes might be waiting to
flourish?
One way I recommend to tap into this “underground” energy is to start a dream journal. I know,
it is annoying to interrupt your sleep to record a vivid dream. But you’ll learn that if you don’t
catch the dream immediately, it slips from your grasp. And, no, you most probably won’t
remember it in the morning. Your dreams can become the “log” of your buried potential. Like
the explorers of yore, who logged their journeys to memorialize them, so too can your journal
become your “dream catcher.”
One of the lovely aspects of pursing passions later in life is that you have (hopefully!) outgrown
the need for other’s approval. Permission to finally learn the violin, take up painting, study the
history of film, and, yes, write a children’s book about a shy carousel horse. Our passion, in
whatever way we choose to express it, will reflect the richer perspective of the wisdom of
collected years.
There is a bittersweet acceptance to the passing of the seasons of one’s life but a wonderful gift
awaits you if you’re brave enough, curious enough, motivated enough to “unwrap” it.