Autumn arrived later than usual in the Pacific NW. It was late October, well after the equinox, before the rains arrived and the temperatures dropped. Mid-October and I was at a pumpkin patch event in short sleeves and it was over 85º. It felt disconcerting. Even the jack-o-lanterns looked puzzled. The fire danger lingered and the multiple fires that were already raging turned our air quality numbers dismal. Sure the days were shortening, offering a respite from the heat, but my memories of times past where not aligning with the present.
Listening to Life's Seasonal Shifts
Autumn has arrived in the Pacific NW. That certain crispness in the air that nips at you when you walk out the door pre-dawn. The crunch of leaves underfoot that creates wildness even in urban settings. And my favorite—morning fog rising like steam from the valley up to The Summit when I take my morning walk. Summer seemed to last f o r e v e r. And even unseasonably hot days continue to float into the forecast and suddenly I’m wearing shorts again for a day or two. But night is overtaking day earlier and cools off the heat with its breath. And I say to myself, “You made it.”
Sojourning with Stillness: Portals
the return is unsettling. yes, i was ready to come home after 61 days away. to step through one final portal…the doors at Portland International Airport. ready to sleep in my own bed after lying in 24 strange beds while i was away, 25 if you count the Reykjavik Airport row of three seats that was a temporary nest. ready to reconnect with those close to my heart.
i remember this from my last sojourn. in a few days the body adjusts to sun rhythms. recalls how to make the morning smoothie. grind the right amount of coffee. slip into the pool and glide back & forth. however, the emotional & spiritual self hesitates. integration takes time. sifting through memories for old routines and deciding which expand my life. which restrict…
Sojourning with Stillness: From Distraction to Joy
one: i distracted myself. fell into an old habit. this during my first week in Wales where my Welsh friend offered me her Airbnb for the week. kitchen, living area, garden, bedrooms…an abundance of space where i could have spent evenings journaling. blogging. reading. meditating. i chose social media rabbit holes. it was the opposite of Stillness. after a few days, realized the unhealthiness of this. appreciate that Stillness is patient.
Sojourning with Stillness: Collaborating with Kindness
three weeks in. three weeks into this sojourn and. three weeks and a few days into this sojourn and Stillness finally said “you are making this more complicated than it needs to be.” let me back up to where i left off in my last blog post, “Disconnected.”
after i left my West Highland Way (WHW) companions, it took a couple of days to exhale and expand into my own space again. my roommate was lovely. she would make a “cuppa” at the end of every day for both of us. we were both respectful of the space we shared and made a genuine connection (and are remaining in contact)—so perhaps my perception of connection needed to shift? what was i focusing on? at that point on the journey, my perceptions were more like a kaleidoscope shifting moment-by-moment. no wonder Stillness was waiting to offer insights.
Sojourning with Stillness: Disconnected
Stillness is elusive. asking me to disconnect. to strip down to a deeper essence. literally. physically, metaphorically. spiritually. i have found myself astonished by this asking. though i came on this sojourn without expectations…well, if i’m honest, i suppose i had them, even if they were unnamed.
Sojourning with Stillness: First Noticings
taking off: a long plane flight begins with bustle. announcements. checks and double-checks. first pass through by attendants. second pass. plane ascends above the clouds. engines thrum and soon it is white noise. comforting. time shifts. passengers settle. a hush descends. middle flight. some doze. some talk quietly…a low buzzing matching the engine. stretching. bathroom breaks. it is a stillness. a shared space of between. though we are all coming from and going too, we are suspended. even with the modern ability to connect in the sky, we are still disconnected. on some level we all know that. trust the pilots to pilot. trust our wisdom to let our spirits be still.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Unsettled Grief—Where do we go from here?
Wee birds have created three nests outside my apartment. Three! One on the wreath attached to my front door. Two are on the deck in hanging pots. Juncos have taken up residency, voicing annoyance with every coming and going. I tap on the door before exiting, tug slowly on the handle and apologize to the small body complaining on the railing, railing at my disturbance. When I return home, I see a small head poking out of the nest. I wave my hand “hello,” and the mama flies out and sizes me up, assess the situation. Will I try to harm her eggs? What tack should she take? Attack? Opening the door, I slip inside. I want to retrieve my step stool and peek at the eggs, but that seems like an intrusion. They need nurturing. Warmth, not peering. So I leave them be, though I can’t resist snapping a quick photo before she returns.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Stories Grief Weaves
Spring has begun in earnest in the Pacific Northwest. Daffodils are in yellow and orange abundance. Plum and cherry trees blushing to life. And Daphne’s aroma intoxicating for blocks on end. Blue sky, dry days are joy, sun warming Earth and skin. Rain is gentle, coming and going as tide. We need each drop to recover from a lingering drought. That the rain falling off-and-on this week without a storm’s full-on bluster is gift. No flooding.
Spring’s energy has been rising for weeks and after two years of all the upheaval Covid has wrought, there is a giddiness in the air of hope that the worse is behind us, even as more chapters are being written. At least that is what the birds are singing. Or…it is mating season?
Lessons from the Pandemic: Between Times, Kindness, & Grief
Fog shrouds my recent morning walk. Street lights halo both bare trees and evergreens. The moon, on the cusp of fullness, is setting in the west, hidden as day yawns to rising in the east. Despite dense fog, light is waking and crows begin their morning report. Winter chill is still in the air and the empty bench remains empty despite my desire to watch the unfolding longer. It’s not that I have anything pressing on the calendar and the quiet of the holiday lull (Martin Luther King Day) that has settled over the neighborhood almost lulls me into forgetting about COVID and the most recent variant, Omicron. Almost.
