Night, like Trump~A hormonal fable


Now that the days are shortening, like the days of my life, night comes, like a barge, toward my ship, and lurks ominously, like Trump, behind Hillary, at the Town Hall debate.

Sometimes night comes even closer, with an unwanted advance, and nudges my boat, just enough, to stir panic inside.

Other times, night enters more forcefully, and the impact is enough to tip my vessel to its side, and I feel the contents of my cabin slide across the floor, and then toward me, as the boat begins to sink, backwards, or sometimes nose down, and sometimes folded in half, plunging into the icy cold waters of death.

Night has been coming like this more and more.
I live in fear of that day in November.
No, not that one.
The other one; where we set the clocks forward
and night comes even swifter.

After that, comes the other night in November;
but I’ve taken care of at least my cabin
with an early ballot.

Last night, I gathered with women
to chase away the darkness,
but night found me even there, in the middle of the dance,
in the center of our power,
as a friend quipped: Nasty Women!

I’m typically buoyant after the dance,
but my ship could barely stay afloat before I docked it into the harbor of sleep.

I woke this morning, long before dawn, to the murky fear of death,
not just mine, but those I love.

I rose then, and began writing, this fable,
and soon, I found in me, an invincible light,
even in the darkness,
with the promise,
of a new day.

~

~

More musing regarding that second day in November:

Pursuing, a guest post

Shannon Herrick.

For the enforced moments of pause.
In line.
In traffic.
At the piano lesson.

Especially for the waiting that is too short a time to dive into more than a row or two of knitting, but long enough for the brain to move from idleness to pursuing.

It’s when the magic happens.

In snippets of time that feel deliciously stolen from boredom.

~Shannon Herrick
#31daysofgratitude
Day 7: waiting

Journey toward the Longest Night

Join a tribe of women cultivating virtue on the journey to the Longest Night…

Journey with the Chakras

sacred-circle

Join an online gathering of women
on a journey toward the Longest Night

In this online circle of women, you’ll gather with kindred spirits who are drawn to the practice of self-awareness, compassion and consciousness. The yogic virtues will serve as our companion and guide. This seven-week, seven-chakra contemplative writing practice will shape a sangha (a communion) of hearts in a journey of inner preparation for the Longest Night.

Timing:

Circle opens: The week of October 30 with the dark of the New Moon when the veils between the worlds are thin.

Circle completes: The week of December 18 with the light of the Full Moon as we approach Winter Solstice/Longest Night.

Women:

This online circle is open to all women, regardless of age, location or yoga/writing/circle/chakra experience. Reflection, sharing and response will take place on the password protected pages of The Journey with the Chakras web pages…

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after a weekend with tara brach

photo: October 2016, Kelly Salasin

This morning I woke with a dis-armored heart.
Which wasn’t as frightening or as fabulous as it might sound.
Only noticeably different.
A little achy perhaps.
With a burning sensation.

As Monday morning quickly unfolded–with obstacles–I recognized my availability to–what was–without wishing for something different. This lent a sweet softness to a time that is typically tense.

I realized then that my mind had been so clever.
Not only had it protected me from the depth of my pain and losses;
It kept me from the depth of love & greatest longings.

No Virgins

An offering for the Autumnal Equinox…

This Vermont Life

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There were 20 minutes when no one was there.
Not on the beach.
Not in the water.
Not across the pond.

But I didn’t know there were 20 minutes then.

I strip down in an instant
and dive into the water
without compassion
and daringly continue out
toward our town
center–
the altar of summer
And lift myself onto the dock
and lie there
under the sun,
one middle-aged breast
deflating to each side
No virgin offering
to this lasting day of summer

And before I hear a car door slam
or the crunch of a stick underfoot,
I slip off the dock
into these September waters
and swim back to the shore
and wrap myself in a towel
and let the sun kiss my face
and turn to commune with the stillness
of water
of Everything
Just as a loon appears
out of the ripples I left behind

Soon…

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