As Autumn asserts itself fully – with blustery days and chilly nights, rain on the panes and (every now and then) a wash of golden sunlight – I am feeling both more and less connected to the Wheel and this turning season than I ever have before.
The leaves are drooping and falling on almost every branch in town. The berries on the bushes are whithering now; the chilly Derbyshire air making it easier for them to succumb to slumber. Signs of life seem to be giving way to death at every turn, in a way that feels right and necessary; a welcome return to rest after so much energy has been expended on living and life.
But my body is turning in the other direction – away, away from death of any kind. instead it is sucking and slurping and seeking all the energy it can to feed the Life that is growing inside me. And as it feeds and grows that Life is becoming more active, not less. No softening, no gentling, no letting go here. This creature inside is all movement and angles, rolling and punching, working hard to remind me each moment that it is living. My belly is a swollen fruit, heavy and tight and ripe. My muscles are tired but rally each day, building and sustaining themselves to support the eventual harvest. And my roots are strong; my determination to be solid and settled in house and family and home bordering on manic; I’m cleaning and arranging and doing more than I have for months (as much as my ponderous belly allows).
The World is slowing down, but I am speeding up; wired in opposition to what the season is trying to tell me. Time is racing along beside me, urging me, encouraging me but it can’t quell the disquiet that comes from being so out of sync…
My mind on the other hand seems to have sequestered itself beneath autumn’s leafy mantle and is happy to reside there for the days ahead. Despite all the practicalities that need attending to and all the unquenchable urges jittering through my nesting limbs, my thoughts are slowing steadily; sinking deeper into the Earth along with those same leaves thata re gradually turning to mulch.
I’m not confused or stupid (most of the time), just less inclined to define and deliniate anymore. My instincts are rising to the surface and settling atop my worries and fears, my words and definitions, like a well worn blanket. They are urging me to trust, to let go, to float loose on the breeze that blusters outside my window and allow time and nature to take its course. To succumb to what is happening to my body and to the World around me. To stop trying to make sense of it all and simply live it.
It feels like my words are dying, dropping away one by one like dead leaves. They no longer hold the power to preserve and nourish me; their season is past, their time (for now) is done. Something else is taking their place. A quiet, deep knowing that is blurred and soft around the edges, that sits within me, surrounds me and the Life inside me and offers us sanctuary. Offers us both growth that is free from expectation and judgement.
I am evergreen in body, but deciduous in mind and the juxtaposition is often unsettling. I am both with the Wheel and without it and at the same time unsure how one person can embody both.
Perhaps it can’t.
Perhaps I am the deciduous tree, asserting my connection to the Wheel through my thoughts and feelings, trusting them to release and decline with the Land. But this new Life inside me is as strong as evergreen and is asserting its right to life and thrive and shine and grow all through the darker, colder months ahead.
We are simply inhabiting the same space, for now; and it is magical.