The Last Days of Fall
It is the last day of Fall, the Winter Solstice is upon us!
Winter is entering with a week of rain in the forecast. It has been raining all night and through the morning. I imagine the river rising, the trees and plants drawing the gift of water into their thirsty tissues.
I could be a bit disappointed this morning, as I had some plans this week that did not include rain. One of those plans was a bike ride that involves picking my way across the river. Whoops. But as I have learned that there really is no escape from the present, I am also learning to receive that present with awe and wonder.
Last week on my way to work I had the intention to spend the first miles of my commute practicing mindful breathing, choosing to be present to myself and the world around me.
My drive takes me from the serenity of my home in the oak woodlands to the hubbub of a university campus, a transition that includes many freeway miles, distracted and anxious drivers, and often bumper to bumper traffic. My commutes can be challenging, and mindfulness reminds me of who I am and who I am to be in our world.
Rather than being impatient at the challenges, I try to make the most of my drive by listening to podcasts or audio books. I might listen to music and allow my thoughts to wander (when I’m not singing along). But this day was different, and I did not have anything cued on my phone.
Instead, I chose to be mindful of the present.
My practice of mindfulness aims to focus on my breath, specifically the exhale. Exhale, pause (inhale), exhale. It is a kind and compassionate practice, with no judgment or shame if my mind wanders.
While many use mindfulness as a technique for psychological health or self-regulation, for me it is a spiritual practice. The exhale is not breathing out my fear or anxiety, it is breathing out goodness, light, and peace to the world. This practice grounds me in my present, to who I am at this moment. My breath creates a space for me to receive whatever or whoever manifests at that moment.
On this morning as I left home, the sun was just peeking over Sulphur Mountain, our ever-present sentinel to the East. Bright yellow shafts of light cut through the oaks and sycamores, backlighting each leaf and bathing the morning in a luminescent glow.
I live in such a beautiful place, I thought to myself as I allowed the trees on each side of the road to enter my awareness. I want to be present to this. At that very moment a doe cautiously emerged from the thick shrub on my left, her muzzle still damp from an early morning drink in the river.
As I slowed to a stop, two yearlings followed behind her, the sunlight silhouetting their large and attentive ears. As the mother deer bounded across the asphalt, her two offspring followed, eager to return to the nearby woodlands. I paused to breathe out what we had just shared, that mother and I.
Waiting just a moment longer to be sure no others were following, I heard an impatient honk. A quick glance to my rearview mirror revealed several vehicles stacked behind. I am sure the driver of the pickup truck on my tail had seen the deer, but the honker had not.
Oh my, I sighed. If those others had only allowed curiosity to bubble up over the unusual occurrence of a car stopped in the middle of the road at sunrise, they might have looked to their right and seen the most wondrous sight they might have encountered for their entire day. Stopping interrupted their plans for the day, but by their impatience they missed the awesome wonder prancing outside their passenger window.
I can certainly be impatient. I could be impatient about the rain forecast interrupting my plans. We tend to forecast our own lives, don’t we? With New Year’s just around the corner we may already be planning (or dreading) our year to come.
But that year is not real, yet, even as we project into that unknown future. The future we project upon ourselves may not remotely resemble the (future) present we find ourselves in. It’s a good practice to simply be present to ourselves, now. Today holds enough for us. Every moment is an opportunity for awe and wonder.
Image: Sycamore leaves framed against blue sky. © Yvonne Wilber
