Coming Home to Myself

The forest is softening now, sinking into the afternoon of the year. There is a subtle sagging in all the plants, no longer are striving upwards as fast as they can, they seem to have let go, relaxing into who they are. Autumn is still but a dream is this green place but we all sense it reaching for us.

The leaves on the Black Walnut trees are starting to yellow as their green hulls swell. A few of the Sassafras leaves are reddening along with those of the Virginia Creeper. The Agrimony seeds, Burdock Burrs and Goat's Beard cling to my pants as I pass along the trail, a desperate last grasp at spreading their genetics further afield.

Sitting amongst these tall ones I sense the quiet downward turn, less energy going into reaching upward, more into the gentle coasting towards the Equinox. A soft, breeze lazily tugs off a few leaves who are ready to release. It feels easy, homey almost. A late Sunday afternoon, nothing needs to be done, we simply get to enjoy being here.

I reflect on the pause in the striving of this year. I did too much of it, as is my habit. Now I want nothing more that to sit here amongst the tress and let go, sink down into the warmed earth and let my bones rest. In my solitude, the quiet of my own self, the mossy ground feels like a sofa, my bare feet tucked into cozy green slippers as I let my mind wander though the waving light-quilt of the canopy above.

There's a coming home to myself out here. A comfort in letting myself open fully into my senses. The sweet wind, whispering in my hair. The fragrance of warm soil filling me while the dancing light carries me. The timeless part of me is reassured by the stillness, the lack of my going anywhere.

I wonder how much of that previous striving towards something new was really necessary. I understand it is all part of life, the reaching and withdrawing, but as I cycle through another year it occurs to me it might not need to be so extreme each time. Could I strive a little less and coast a little more? Could I do less reaching outward and more sinking inward?

In this externally-focused, growth-driven culture that feels radical and scary. A well-worn inner voice tells me I won't make enough money and end up living on the street. I know that's not true but I notice the tightening in my body when it speaks. I return to the smell of the soil and the touch of the breeze. Ah! Yes, I'm okay, I'm here, I'm cherished, I'm alive.

There's another voice, one who's path is less worn in the carpet of my mind, that tells me it is only by sinking inwards that I open the flow of gifts I have for the world. Only when I am still and quiet can the water of life find the cracks to bubble up from the Otherworld and seep out in my thoughts, words and deeds. It tells me to trust, to lean back into who I am.

In what ways are you leaning into yourself my dear?