Here we have a quick photo from today–strategically angled not for artistic merit but to avoid getting the dead squirrel into the shot–although coming to the end of writing the post and reading back through, I am wondering now if maybe I should have aimed to leave it in, to embrace that, too. I share the photo here with thoughts in mind about cycle, rhythm, season, change, ebb, flow, swell, recede, wax, wane. Of the latter, it’s as if you cannot say one without the other: ebb pulls out from the tongue flow, wax attracts to pen wane. Try conjuring up rise without fall landing right behind on the runway; say up and in comes down. Scroll back a few posts and you will find a photo of daffodils in my yard that had just begun to bloom. Today the daffodils have long-faded from view and astillbe and sweet william, among others, are at center stage. This moment-by-moment changing, rising, falling, bursting, sag and wilt is always happening, always present, always everywhere. So I think it is with our journey: the ebbs and flows, rises and falls. It is all a part of the way.
I learned with much sadness earlier this week that Oliver Schroer died July 3rd, 2008.
There is life then death and also there is death then life.
I am thinking of the falling times people go through, the quiet times, the wilting times–and the emergence that so often comes after that: times of going inward, then going outward–the waxing and waning that David Whyte so powerfully talks about. In his talk, The Poetry of Self-Compassion (a cd I would highly recommend), he invites the listener to embrace it all: both the waxing and the waning, the highs and the lows, our strengths and all our seeming imperfections–and he suggests, essentially, that there is something very powerful in doing that. It seems to me that to walk with it all is the lifeblood of authenticity: to walk with acceptance, honesty, and tenacity leaning into pain, loss, confusion and into the richness of who you are, the wonder that is around you, and the deeply personal and positive contributions you can make.
I am holding in this moment Oliver’s death, the reality and inevitability of death, the plant in my yard I’ve longed named, Droopy, who is just beginning to bloom, and the laughter of a child.
