The moon transitions from dark to full as we honour the rhythms of the Earth, moving in cycle.
This time of year, and this particular turn of the wheel, is a potent time to acknowledge the layers we’re ready to shed.
Endings and beginnings, as we move through the cycles of our lives. Loosening the grip of our past, to welcome in what lays ahead.
As the weather shifts, I wonder what you can put down in order to dive a little deeper into the introspective months of hibernation approaching.
Last week the sacred thread of Samhain and Dia De Los Muertos weaved its way through us, taking a moment to pause and remember those whom we have lost, those who have walked before us, honouring the spirits of the land, and saying our silent prayers of gratitude for the guidance they offer us when we’re quiet enough to listen.
As I prepared for my Saturday morning class this past weekend, the theme of grief kept arising – perhaps the grief found in remembering as a way to hold sacred the necessary time to heal and to also celebrate that which we love fiercely. I honoured its call as we moved through our sequence with the thread of letting go, in so many different aspects of our lives.
I read an excerpt from this piece from Mary Oliver, I come to often as a reminder. I feel inspired to share the full poem with you here:
When Death Comes
When death comes, like the hungry bear in autumn;
When death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle pox;
When death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity wondering:
What is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.Mary Oliver
We honour it all as we move forward in our lives. This is how we continue to take the fullness of the world into our arms.
Resting on your belly, feeling your hip bones grounded, feeling the support of the earth beneath you. In the stillness, Cobra asks to be explored.
Your hands planted firmly beneath your shoulders, as you lengthen and expand starting with your neck all the way down your spine, invite space inside of yourself. You may find just your head and shoulders lift off, honouring the subtleties of your practice. Close your eyes and stretch, move with reverence and respect, lifting your upper body only if it feels supportive. Invite your breath into new spaces inside of yourself – or spaces forgotten, as you exhale surrendering, allowing the layers to shed.
Take your time with this practice.
Reflect on how you would feel if you could finally put all the layers of restriction down, perhaps layers of a lifetime.
Can you invite this intentional letting go to be a part of your yearly commitment to yourself, breathing yourself anew to allow the healing months of winter to support you as you grow and evolve.
What does the symbol of a snake mean for you?
What are you ready to let go of, remember chapters ending mean new chapters beginning. What are you ready to welcome in?
Sending you so much love on your journey
In case you missed my Autumn newsletter, you can get caught up on all my latest news here
You can also send me an email firstname.lastname@example.org to find out about upcoming in person offerings, including the return of karma classes.