The Coming Season

     This is the hardest one for me.
     The first two posts introduced my conscious desire to witness and savor two streams of living in which I swim: the flow of the seasons, and the flow of growing up. Each has its flashy moments and its subtle interstitial sweetness, even in the hard times.
     But there is one more stream that I know I swim in, and for some reason want to write about, even though I can feel my heart try to turn away from it: the shift and loss of species, habitats and ecosystems due to global warming. Perhaps by looking at it squarely, naming it, I can defuse the grief I feel. Sometimes, when I have been good about going to my cushion regularly to meditate, I can accept the changes without assigning a value of loss to them. I can see that there is still beauty in what is right in front of me, the coming season of spring, the flowering of my children, my cushion.
     Bear with me. Is not life about adaptation, whether it is in the moment or over the millenia? Perhaps it is that as I grow older, I feel a kinship with the loss. It is my own coming season. And here is where I laugh, because I know – I think I know – that the deep happiness that is in me is timeless. It is grounded. It just is.
     I am learning by writing, because it forces me to give shape to my heart. Be gentle, with me, with your own heart. We will hang in the current, swimming, watching, feeling the flow of time brush the lengths of our bodies. Just being here is glorious.