In October I discovered my new favorite workout: Chasing golden leaves as they surrender their grip on their branch and parachute toward the earth. I would watch for one to fall and then sprint to try to catch it. How many could I get? Not many! Most were too nimble, too sly.
Even so, I could have done it for hours.
But the mind has a way of grasping for time.
And time has a way of grabbing us back, insisting: Come here. Do this. Get it done! Hurry up!
As though accomplishment is everything.
What about the desire to get lost? To slow everything down? To feel every moment? The weight of the coffee mug in your hands, the burst of orange wedge on your tongue…
In July I said goodbye to my sweet studio. In August I began working someplace new. I am happy enough in my new place, although not entirely complete. Something is missing and I am beginning to feel adrift.
How do I build the bridge between now and next? The chasm appears too deep, too wide.
In my lesser moments, I let my mind spin.
In my higher moments, I look to the trees, their branches mostly bare and whisper to myself, “Trust life.”
Life cycles. Creation and destruction, fervor and rest, diligence and play. It has a rhythm outside the mind, beyond what we can control or even hold.
Living embodied is a radical task. It means allowing those cycles to exist not just in theory, but in practice. It means allowing life to arise as it wants, to be fully expressed and realized on its own terms. It means not squelching or hurrying. It means trusting the process.
It is late November. I let go, follow the leaves to the ground, soften my sinews.
May winter do with me what she will.