Mum Meditation

The mums on the front step are looking well-worn, so i plant them into the garden. Ah, yes--the ever-hopeful gardener. Will they survive the winter?

Most will not, but one or two might. My garden is just now coming into bloom with mums i planted years ago. I pick a bouquet, and it last 3 weeks :)

Often these late mums don't have much of a season, but these late October days are warmish with temperatures in the 50s, so the perennial mums are smiling.

It's never too late to plant ourselves in meditation. If we get an early start, we may bloom early, but some of us don't get started meditating until late in the season of our lives. Still, our meditation practice can bloom:)

Oak Leaf Lessons

Oak leaves are floating down to earth today. A breeze rattles them, shaking them off their branches.

Earth returns to earth.

We know that last spring, the branches were bare. Sap made of ground water and minerals (i.e., an aspect of earth) rose into the tree and branches, and oak leaves unfurled. Now their 6-month life span is over, and these leaves, made of earth and water are returning to earth. Oak leaves are already pretty crunchy, having lost most of the water element that made them glisten red just a week ago.

Our very own earth element returns to earth, every single day. Dead skin cells, nail parings, poop. The fruits of the earth come into our bodies via our mouths and leave via our back-sides. What of this can we claim as "me?"

We walk through piles of leaves, piles of dead leaf bodies. Our compost is a pile of dead plant bodies. And the earth we walk on, the dust on our shoes, the dirt under our fingernails are the remains of hundreds and thousands of dead bodies.

Oak trees are baring their secret selves to us now--skeletons against the sky.
And our secret self? Earth, water, air just passing through.

Mint Meditation

With the uproar of construction this past summer, and the deconstruction of my herb garden, i got out of the habit of making mint iced tea every day.

My mint patch is supposed to be about 8 feet long and 2 feet wide, but mint oversteps its bounds when no one is looking. So i pull 4 or 5 mint stems out of the ground, cut off the root, smoosh the tall "sprigs" of mint into a big glass pitcher, and pour boiling water over them. My sweetie calls this "iced mint water."

The mint is still vigorous and green, and cold mint tea in the fridge offers variety to my attempt to drink 8 glasses of water each day.

In the uproar of your life, pull out your old meditation practice. You remember how to do it. It's sitting there with you right this moment, just waiting to refresh you.

Photo from tsflowers.com

Woodland Walk

My woodland walk is covered with dead leaves so that you can no longer tell where the path is. The beginning and end of the path are lined with big rocks, which point the way. Then what?

Sometimes, our path is not clear. Our daily life gets covered up by too many things to do.

Mindfulness is the ground we walk on. Mindfulness is NOT one more thing we try to add on to our too-busy lives. We simply change our attitude toward every mundane moment.

Get out of bed mindfully.
Pee mindfully.
Brush your teeth mindfully.
Get dressed mindfully.
Drink your cup of tea or coffee mindfully.
Eat breakfast mindfully.
Walk to your car mindfully.
Feel and hear the crush of fallen leaves under your feet.
Drive mindfully.
That way you'll be safer and so will everyone else around you.

Shrub Season

Except for oaks and beeches, most trees have lost their leaves. The landscape begins to look rather bare, but around the edge of the lawn, shrubs are shining red, orange, yellow, and even pink. Thank goodness for shrubs!

We love our shrubs when they bloom in the spring. Now they draw our attention again as their late autumn leaves color our personal landscape. Spectacular Japanese maples redden or else yellow into orange. Weeping cherries and magnolias are yellow. Double-file viburnums turn dark red. Even that lazy old forsythia, who has been resting on its early laurels for six months, finally DOES something as its leaves tinge toward red potato skin.

The lives of many octogenarians are weakening of failing as their limbs stand bare in anticipation of the coming deep freeze. But some few of these 80-somethings are still going full steam, and they draw our attention. I want to be like that, we think, as if we have the choice.

Our choice is now, while we are young: daily exercise, a nourishing diet, and mindfulness.

When the body finally becomes completely bare of energy in the late autumn of our lives, mindfulness is the only thing that remains.

As one dying friend quipped: her life is now only "Bed, Bath, and soon to be Beyond."

Her advice: Be present.

Glorious Oaks

Two weeks ago, we thought foliage season was a bust, but now that the tourists have gone home, the hills are alive with the colors of oaks--crimson, russet, gold.

Some hillsides are bare of leaves, and some shine oak-ly against the blue sky. The light is delightful, as the naturally shiny oak leaves reflect and refract the sun's brightness. The late afternoon light slants low across the sky illuminating the hills gloriously.

When i take pictures of fall leaves (for this blog), i see that every leaf is aged with black spots, brown spots, or barnacles. Sort of like my aging skin.

From a distance, the aging forest, the aging leaves are beautiful. Up close, we see a leaf's moles and blemishes.

Everything is aging.

My Harvest Basket is Gone

In the summer, i keep my harvest basket near the front door. While harvest season isn't over exactly--kale, chard, and bok choy are still growing happily--it's time for my harvest basket to go south for the winter, into the basement, and be replaced with a basket of slippers for visitors to my home.

The summer harvest is over. Done (whether or not it got "done.") Gone.

We could just spend the rest of the day noticing "Gone."
Noticing everything that changes (which is everything).
Reading this blog. Gone.
Moving the mouse. Gone.
Pushing keys on the keyboard. Gone.
The blink of an eye, and for a split-second, sight is gone.
Breath. Gone.
Heartbeat. Gone.
Saliva swallowed. Gone.

Go on. Notice "gone."