This Season, Like No Other

“Seasons come, as seasons do, old and known, but somehow new” – Max Coots

 

As the wheel of the year turns, some things are the same every year- the chill air at night as the days grow shorter, the changing colors of the leaves on the trees. In these things we are connected with all the beings in our ecosystem- with the squirrels now frantically burying nuts all over my yard, the geese honking in the air, plants coming to fruition each in their own time, all preparing for what we in this northeast bio-region know will be a cold winter ahead.

Other things we can count on are peculiarly human, and link us to our human community- the bustle of the school year underway, preparations for an election in November. Our holidays and traditions help us mark the turning of the seasons.

This autumn will be like no other. It will have some of the same things -- chill air, changing leaves, new semesters, elections -- but differences subtle and not so subtle mark this year in its uniqueness. Right now as farm stands near my home fill up with apples, pumpkins, and the last of the autumnal harvest, the stores are full of Halloween candy bringing memories of years past. When we first moved to the home where we now live, my son wanted to host a party for his new friends on Halloween, and so we gathered with cider and costumes, and progressed around the neighborhood together. It was a joyful success, and so it became a tradition in the years that followed. I have some wonderful memories of those parties; some years it was hot, other years bitter cold or raining. Over the years, friends changed and costumes changed, the kids got bigger, as did their bags of treats.

A Soon my son grew too old for trick or treat. Then a different neighborhood became the “it” place for trick or treating, and the kids would beg to go find their friends on the other side of town. Our annual gathering got smaller and smaller and finally came to an end. A friend who had joined us since that first year seemed amazed when I told her “no party this year.”

I feel some sadness about the end of that tradition, but the next year we went out with a small child who toddled door to door, amazed and bewildered as she learned the trick-or-trat ritual for the first time. We witnessed the joy of our young adult neighbors hosting their first ever trick or treaters, their delight at being the ones to welcome costumed children, to offer them treats, and watch the little one’s face light up as they praised her costume and filled her bag.

This is one of the ways seasonal traditions touch us. They help us mark not only the cycles of the seasons, but the longer circle of our lives. Like a string of memories, I can see Halloweens when I was a child, and a teen, and a parent. I now wonder “what is Halloween for me in this new season of my life?” Seasonal traditions show us how we are changing, how our community is changing, how our ecosystem is changing. They show us changes that might otherwise be too subtle or gradual to notice day to day.

We talk about observing seasonal traditions, and I like that way of putting it -- observing this season, exactly as it is. As the season unfolds, “old and known, but somehow new” I invite you to adopt a spiritual practice of noticing; get curious about what is the same and what is different. Notice what changes are happening within you, and what remains the same. Notice how this autumn is like no other. What are you noticing about this season? How does it remind you of other years? What is different and surprising? May this autumn be for you both familiar and new- a fruitful harvest of our growing season.

 

Noticing Grace

Each month I gather with other spiritual directors online for a time of silence, reflection and deep listening. One month a colleague entered the meeting a couple of minutes late, after we had already begun our silent mediation. When the silence had ended, she was flustered and asked our forgiveness for being late. One member of the group suggested that perhaps we should add to our group agreements that “one minute late is not late.” Another suggested we broaden it to “we will extend and receive grace.” The following month someone else had missed the time change of the meeting, and came in a whole hour late, thoroughly chagrined. I myself had done something similar at a meeting that week, and felt deep sympathy for her. We reminded each other of our agreement “we will extend and receive grace.”

Because this is a group that has been meeting for several years, we have a deep trust, respect and affection for one another. When someone arrives late we don’t take that as disrespectful, but rather the sign that they are having a complicated day that is probably not going according to plan. We value our time together and the quiet ,peaceful time we create. It is much more important to me that each of us is fed by that meeting than arriving right at the top of the hour.

One of the unexpected silver linings of having to do so many things in new ways since the Pandemic is that we see each another make mistakes all the time. If you attend meetings on Zoom, even if you have lots of practice, at some point you are going to forget to mute yourself, or unmute yourself. At least once a week someone asks forgiveness for missing a meeting they had every intention of attending because they just forgot, or overslept, or wrote down the wrong time. It’s easier to understand and forgive quickly when I, myself, have made that exact mistake quite recently. Our shared experience of the pandemic has also made us rethink the notion that if you are sick you should power through and show up anyway. We are coming to see that even though it is disappointing when our friend, family, co-worker can’t come because they are sick, humans get sick and need time to get better.

Sometimes it’s not easy to let go of these mistakes and disappointments. It’s maddening to attend an online event where for whatever reason the sound or video is not working. It’s frustrating when your food delivery is later than promised. It’s discouraging when the person you had an appointment with doesn’t show up. We don’t have to pretend to be happy about it, but we can extend each other a bit of grace. We know that all our lives are complicated and stressful, and we too have received grace when we were late, were absent, or couldn’t get our technology to work.

Grace is not always what is called for in the moment- sometimes things need to be interrupted, a hard truth to be told, a boundary set or kept available – sometimes we have no spare goodwill to extend. We don’t have to extend grace to one another, that’s part of what Grace is all about. Grace is freely given, not earned. My dictionary says that the grace we extend one another is “courteous goodwill” and when we speak of the divine, grace is “free and unmerited favor” or “bestowal of blessings.” We use the same word to refer to someone who is graceful, who moves with ease. This is how it feels to be with people who extend grace to one another- we make smooth and easy our time together with that goodwill we freely give. That same quality abides when we receive grace—when we accept with that same goodwill and ease the gifts others have given, to smooth our way when we are late, or unmuted, or our battery runs out in the middle of a call. Grace is not always available, and so is worth cherishing with gratitude as a freely-given gift.

Call to mind times when you have noticed grace in yourself or in the world around you. Where and how is grace extended and received? This month as a spiritual practice I invite you to notice grace, wherever you find it – in yourself or in the world around you. Grace is not always available, and so is worth cherishing with gratitude as a freely-given gift.

The Springtime Work of Transformation

I asked friends what signs of spring they were noticing. They mentioned birdsong and blossoms. They didn’t mention the bare branches of trees against the bleak grey sky, or the frost we had that morning. This week at my house was wind and rain and mud, the streets and grass in my neighborhood littered with branches swept out of the trees by the rough winds. Then when the sun finally appeared, the first yellow blooms of daffodils and forsythia answered. Spring is always a time of transition. It is unpredictable and quixotic. It can be parkas in the morning and shirtsleeves in the afternoon.

One grey spring morning the rain pouring down the windows mirrored the grief in my own heart and the tears rolling down my own cheeks, as the turn of season reminded me of past losses. I try to let grief do it’s cleansing work when it comes, to let the tears wash through whatever is ready to be remembered or released. Later, on a walk, I had a sense of feeling cleansed, lighter, for having allowed that grief to move through me. I was ready to receive the sunshine, the birdsong, the green shoots of new life. The old truism popped into my head “April showers bring May flowers.”

As spring unfolds around you I encourage you to notice and honor it all- the rain and the mud, rough winds and gentle breezes, and of course the buds and leaves appearing on trees and bushes, and the beautiful progression of flowers so precious and ephemeral. Allow yourself to weep with the showers when that is what your spirit needs, and allow the fresh pops of color in the landscape, the antics of birds and squirrels to nourish your spirit in those moments when the clouds part and there is room for delight. Welcome spring as it moves through your heart doing the hard work of transformation.

Between Inhale and Exhale

Bring your attention to your breath. Notice your inhale, notice your exhale. Without trying to change anything just notice how you are breathing right now. What happens at the top of your inhale? I notice that there is a slight pause, a millisecond of stillness before I exhale. At the bottom of the exhale, I notice the same stillness. (If breathing is not comfortable for you right now for whatever reason, you can just play with the ideas without the physical practice.)

If you want, play around with what happens at the top of your inhale- try to inhale again, and then inhale again. When I try that I notice there comes a point when I can no longer inhale, and moreover, I am REALLY longing to exhale. The same is true if I exhale, and then exhale again, and then exhale again. Soon there is nothing more to exhale, and I am really longing to inhale. What did you notice? I notice that after doing all that I feel a bit off balance, so I recommend taking a few conscious breaths - just a natural inhale followed by a natural exhale, until things feel balanced and easy.

Not long ago I was getting ready to go out of town with my family, so I worked extra hard to get everything wrapped up before I went away. Then during our trip, I tried to do and see all the things I had been missing while I was working. Eventually this was like trying to breathe in and then breathe in again- there was just no more capacity to take anything in. I was full. Another time this year I experienced grief and illness in the same month. I had to lay things down one after the other until I felt empty, and then noticed an urge to “breathe in” metaphorically speaking. I began to wonder what it would be like for my life to mimic the comforting rhythm of a smooth inhale and a smooth exhale.

A recent shopping trip also brought this metaphor to mind. We had done very little shopping over past year, so we had some catching up to do. It felt good to accomplish so many shopping goals, but when we got home, we had no time to begin putting our new things away and had no place to put them. I remembered the natural pattern of breath and thought “it is surely time to exhale- time to clear out some old things and give them away.” But right at that moment we were worn out from shopping. I remembered that little pause between the inhale and the exhale. It feels soothing and natural to me to pause between inhaling and exhaling.

I invite you to carry this image with you as you go about your daily life; notice which activities feel like breathing in, and which feel like breathing out. Notice if there are opportunities for a pause in between. Many aspects of our culture rush us from one thing to the next- like that video app that starts the next video automatically without a chance to pause and process what we have just experienced, like the coupon you get after your purchase redeemable on another purchase next week. We have all been though a lot, have experienced much change and loss, have had to learn new things, and respond to the demands of our time. Do you feel like you are inhaling or exhaling right now in your life? Are you feeling a longing to transition from one to the other? Or is it time for a brief pause? In this busy season I encourage you to play with finding a balance of inhale, exhale, and the spaces in between.

Change of Season, Change of Rhythm

Just when I’ve settled into a nice daily rhythm… the seasons change. My dogs, who insisted on getting up with the sun at 5:30, are now content to sleep ‘till seven. This is just as well, since 7 o’clock in the morning, which was a beautiful time for a walk this summer, is often cold and dark and grim. Lately even the sunny days which are beautiful and crisp end so quickly! Now that the sun is setting before dinner, it’s hard to imagine any evening activities besides curling up under a blanket. I feel a bit guilty for just wanting to hibernate until I remember that all of nature in the Northeast is engaged in this seasonal change. It’s a rare bird I hear chirping on that first dog walk of a winter’s morning. The Squirrels and birds who rose early during the summer now visit my feeders in the afternoon. It’s only modern humans who try to keep the same schedule all year round.

It was kind of a relief that first bitter-cold Saturday afternoon when I finally pulled out my warmest winter blanket and curled up with a cup of tea and a pile of books. In our part of the world where a clear sunny day is precious, I feel compelled to spend each nice hour gardening, walking, socializing, traveling or at least sitting on the porch enjoying the activity of neighborhood critters and the play of light and wind in the trees. Phew. Where I live the weather this fall has been uncommonly warm and dry, the show of leaves stunning and this season’s local apples amazing. I’m sad to see it go and yet as the dark and cold settle in I’m suddenly getting excited about sitting quietly and knitting.

Winter has its own special gifts, revealed to us anew each year. It’s natural that one would want to spend sunny beautiful days enjoying a landscape bursting with life. Summer is a vital time of planting, cultivating and harvesting. But farm stands near me are closed for the winter; pretty much everything has been gathered in. My hose and gardening supplies are in the basement, and I’ve prepared the garden for its dormant period. I too am ready for shorter days when I can be still, without the pressure of growing and blooming and harvesting.

Notice what the change of season holds for you this year. Lay down what your body, mind and spirit needed in Summer and Autumn, and notice what is calling to you right now. I invite you to arrive in this fresh new season ready for whatever it brings.

A Middle Way

Before Gautama Buddha was the Buddha, he was Prince Siddhartha -- born into wealth, power and privilege. He grew up with every luxury a person could want and was sheltered from all suffering. When he finally witnessed sickness, old age and death, he left the palace and went on a search for truth, a search for an end to suffering.

Siddhartha studied with teachers who practiced asceticism, practitioners who believed that hardship would help them find religious truth. They fasted and deprived their bodies of comfort. Siddhartha studied with them for several years, but not finding what he sought moved on. He came to a village and a young woman, seeing him weak with starvation, offered him a bowl of milk with honey, and he accepted the nourishment. In doing so he both broke his vows, but began his return to health.

Siddhartha had experienced both great luxury and pleasure, and extreme deprivation. He discerned that neither of those two paths lead to enlightenment, lead to an end of suffering, and so he chose a “middle way” that eventually lead him to peace and enlightenment.

Recently I was reminded of Buddha’s Middle Way, and found it to be a useful guide in these difficult times. For example --  when I get depressed, I know that if I can get myself up and moving and get some chores done, I usually feel a little better. But sometimes if I keep working too long, I become frazzled and exhausted. I just keep working and working as if I could ever possibly finish it ALL and finally be done. Eventually I catch myself, I remember that instead of seeking an end to work, what I really need is balance. I try to find the right balance; when I have worked “enough” to get my body moving and feel productive but let go of the work before I am depleted. In meditation it is no different; I try to keep my focus on the object of the meditation, but if I become too determined, if I push too hard, I wind up tense and discouraged. If I relax too much I nod off and forget I was even meditating.

The Buddhist Suttras tell this story that is a wonderful way to remember the middle path: A musician approached the Buddha, struggling with their meditation practice and seeking guidance. Buddha reminded the musician that when you tune the strings of the instrument too tightly, they break, and when you tune them too loosely, they don’t resonate enough to make a note. Music happens when the strings are not too tight and not too loose. This coming month I encourage you to practice like a musician playing their instrument; if you feel brittle and tense, loosen your control effort. If nothing is happening, add a bit of focus and energy. If you’ve ever played a string instrument or been to a live concert, you know that musicians have to tune their instruments frequently- it’s not something you can do once and be done forever. In spiritual practice, take time to tune -- looking for that middle way, where effort and ease are in balance, in every moment.

Help for the Tulips

Around my neighborhood tulips are poking up through the layer of leaves that accumulate over the fall and winter. Many spring plants are designed to do this, and start their journey with a pointy bit that breaks through whatever obstacles it finds on its way to the sunshine. Sometimes, however, you see tulip greens that have pushed up through a dry brown leaf, but can’t seem to break free. I often see tulips with a kind of leaf collar that grows higher and higher into the air as the tulip greens grow. 

As I walk around the neighborhood and I see tulips trapped in their collars, It gives me great satisfaction to pull off the constricting leaf and watch the young tulip growth pop out into their full and proper form. I felt like a great tulip helper until one day I tugged the leaf too quickly or with too much force and the tip of the young tulip plant came right off! I felt terrible. Much better to be constricted by a leaf than to be ripped asunder! Some kinds of help are worse than no help at all. After that day I became more careful in my approach, gentle with the young green tulips, but persisted in my mission to liberate tulips everywhere. I began to notice that if you liberate the tulips when they are still young, they spring into a normal shape and almost immediately one can’t tell the difference. Other tulips, who have been constricted for a while may have tell tale shapes in their leaves, like the band around my finger where my wedding ring has been these many years, but go on to have beautiful flowers. Unfortunately, some tulips who have grown for too long under too many leaves seem to do worse for my help. The part of the tulip growth that has been under a leaf burden and has never seen sunlight will be pale and weak. Sometimes when I remove the leaves the tulip flops over and never comes right. It seems as if the plant had wisely formed itself using the obstacle as a support, growing itself to match its unique situation.

This reminds me of the well-meaning help I offer my human friends. When a simple thing we do is helpful it is a delight for both the one helping and the one being helped. Sometimes the help we offer can make life a bit easier but can’t address the deeper scars incurred early in life, or from trauma. But sometimes our well-meaning help doesn’t take into account the unique realities our struggling friends are facing. It may seem to us that they are one quick tug away from being relived of their obstacles, but we forget that living beings have their own inner wisdom that helps them grow creatively around obstacles, unique supports that help them survive what they have met on their unique journey.

All around us are people who could use our help, and our compassionate actions are a beautiful spiritual practice. I encourage you, as you reach out to those your heart is moved to help, to remember the inner wisdom and resilience of the ones you are trying to support. “I could come by for a visit- would that be helpful or are you needing rest and quiet? “What has helped in the past when you have faced something like this? What have you learned comforting or helpful to you? What have you tried already?” Be sure to notice, alongside your empathy for their struggles, how they are showing resilience and wisdom, and the resources they have available.

I encourage you to give that same respect and compassion to yourself. What a miracle any of us have made it this far, I offer gratitude for whoever you have become in order to survive, whatever life-giving forms you have grown into that show your resilience. This season as you see the tulips and other spring flowers in your neighborhood, let them fill your heart with compassion for all who struggle, and gratitude for the always creative spirit of life that helps us grow through obstacles and bloom in the way only we can bloom.