Skeleton in Bardo

That skeleton i bought at the hardware store for Halloween is still sitting on my front step. She's halfway between holidays, wearing a red scarf and surrounded by fall gourds.

The weather has not yet turned wintry. We are halfway between seasons--no longer fall, but not quite winter.

In Tibetan, the between place is called bardo. We can practice dying by being aware of the stages of falling asleep--that bardo of not awake but not quite asleep either.

The skeleton is in the bardo of between lives. The former fleshly life is gone. Who knows what happens next?

Beauty

 

Three flickers sat in the winterberry shrub eating berries. So exciting to see a local bird eating local berries in my back yard.

The flickers are beautiful all by themselves. The red winter berries stand out against the tan and gray November landscape. Beauty all around me.

I love the Beauty Way prayer of the Navajo. Here's an excerpt.

I walk with beauty before me. 

I walk with beauty behind me.

I walk with beauty below me. 

I walk with beauty above me.
I walk with beauty around me. 

My words will be beautiful.
In beauty all day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons, may I walk.

 Substitute the word "mindfulness" for the word "beauty," and feel the prayer in the body. Then return to the word "beauty."

May we all walk in beauty.

The flickers fly in beauty.

Big Move

The big move is happening. The seasons are changing. Potatoes and winter squash have been drying in the woodshed, along with the gladiolus corms. Now it's time for everything to move to the basement, so that the wood can start coming into the woodshed.

Onions and garlic are already in the basement, but i have to shuffle them around to make room for incoming vegetables. I need more shelf space.

They say that wood warms you twice: once when you stack it and once when you burn it. Potatoes and squash aren't nearly as heavy, but there's a lot of up and down on the basement stairs. Good exercise!

Change. It's the only thing that's constant.

Snake Skin

Last evening was cool, so i fired up the woodstove. In between the first two logs i pulled out of the woodshed was a snake skin. Which gives the word "woodshed" a whole new meaning now that a snake has shed its skin in it.

I am shedding my summer clothes in favor of long sleeves and corduroy pants and fleece vests.

A change of seasons. A change of skins. From warm bare skin to cool.

Summer changes slowly, quickly to autumn. Wriggle out of warmth into a new day of freshness.

Summer Tires

'Tis the season to change winter tires for summer tires. I took the risk yesterday, had my tires changed, and veered home through the snow/sleet/slush. Very exciting driving.

One of my neighbors has already switched to his Crocs summer footwear despite the snow. He's already wearing his summer "tires," which makes for very exciting walking downhill on the snow-ice.

Sometimes, the seasons change faster than we do. Sometimes, the weather changes faster than we are prepared for. Sometimes we change faster than our friends do.

Change. By tomorrow, the snow will be mostly melted, and it will be time for summer footwear--again.

The Longest Night

In high school, i wrote a paper about Stonehenge. And i visited it a month after i graduated from college, back before it was a tourist destination. The last time i was there, we arrived at 6:00 p.m., just after the gates had closed. Nevertheless, as i walked toward the chain-link fence, i began to cry. That's how happy i was to see Stonehenge, even from a distance.

So, perhaps it's not surprising that i hosted my 30th winter solstice bonfire last evening. I love celebrating these ceremonies that observe the cycles of the earth.

If we stop to notice, our bodies are in tune with the tides, in sync with sunrise and sunset, on the same wavelength with light and dark. Our bodies are earth, water, air, and fire.

Star at Dawn

A hard frost came last Sunday and killed all the annuals. Sudden death. Suddenly the slow drift of seasons has become dramatic. Leaves falling, falling. Bare trees all around. A different season is definitely here, yet i am not resisting--at least, not yet.

I take joy in the yellow leaves still clinging to trees, the copper beach leaves. I delight in the blue of the sky, gaze at the last two stars twinkling brightly in the dawn.

Take 30 seconds and drink in some beauty right around you. Been there. Done that kills our joy. Let your joy shine like a star at dawn.

Groundhog Day

I love Groundhog Day. I mean, I love the thought of Groundhog Day, which has very little to do with any real groundhog, or woodchuck, as they are called here in the North Country. I certainly don't love them when a groundhog gets into my vegetable garden. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Today, February 2, lies halfway between winter solstice and spring equinox. In other words, the sun has returned!

Yes, it's snowing outdoors right now. Four inches since last night, but the snow is temporary. When the snow clouds pass, the sun will shine. And my passive solar house heats up to a-day-at-the-beach temperature. No matter how cold it is outdoors, indoors will be toasty. We let the wood stove go out, and the furnace won't come on. The day's heat lasts well into the evening when I finally start a new fire, an overnight fire, in the wood stove.

The earth spirits, who went to ground last All Hallows' Eve (Halloween aka Day of the Dead), those spirits are, metaphorically at least, popping their noses up to say "The sun is coming. The sun is coming."

First Day of Fall

Today is the first day of fall. To celebrate, i picked up 8 pots of mums on my way home from the airport. The houseplants have come indoors. Mums are sitting on the front step. It's official. A new season is here.

Sometimes, the seasons of our lives have official markers--birthdays, anniversaries, graduation, marriage, birth of a child, death of a parent--but mostly, day rolls on after day with little noticeable difference.

"Noticing" is another word for mindfulness. We notice not only the big changes--of season to season, of leaving home and arriving at work--we also notice small changes, incremental changes. The light in the room is changing. Right now. The breath in your body is changing. Right now. Your heart is beating. Right now. Your eyes are shifting their focus. Right now.

I'm going outdoors now to notice the changes in the gardens. The tomato plants are dead. The summer squash production has slowed down. The broccoli and chard look ecstatic, now that the weather has cooled down a few degrees.

Simply sit still for a minute, and notice life. Your life.

Photos from bonniesgarden.com, lmasymphony.com, & uprisingorganics.com

Change of Seasons

Yesterday i refurbished my front step. I brought all the flowering pots indoors, swept off the stoop and the steps, and began arranging pots of mums, a pumpkin, and 2 dozen birdhouse gourds. This rearrangement is my formal acknowledgment of the change of seasons.

The lush pots of overflowing flowers and vines, of many varieties, are now inside. Outside, the front steps look rather like a monoculture by comparison.

Isn't this what we hope for as our own seasons change? By the time we reach the autumn of our life, our exterior may look only nominally like it used to. But inside, we want a lush harvest of wisdom, calm, and equanimity.

Living an authentic life and living an ethical life leads us closer to our intention. Practicing kindness--to ourselves and others--is the first step to awakening in our lives.

I'm going to be kind to my solarium full of plants and water them this sunny day.

Revolution in the House & Garden

A revolution has occurred in my house and gardens. The seasons have revolved, as they do--a complete turning of the wheel of life.

Houseplants have moved outdoors for the summer. Some seedlings, such as broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and onions have been planted. Others are leaving the house today for their outdoor kindergarten, usually called hardening off, to toughen up the tomato plants, the zinnias, and the cosmos.

My solarium, which has been growing green since last fall, now looks bereft, as half of its inhabitants are on summer vacation. The other half leave today.

Aren't we all looking for some internal revolution? Some turning when we will finally feel at home and comfortable in our own skins. Some release of the pressures of anxiety, worry, or frustration.

Here's the catch: the revolution doesn't happen by doing nor by going.

Stop. Sit. Meditate. Watch the seasons revolve of their own accord. Notice the internal turning toward peace.