These days. . .

“These days I’ll sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten…my friend.
Don’t confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them.”

-Jackson Browne

I find myself in the midst of transformation.  Slowly, but without concern, the trappings of the physical world fall away.  The self opens up, expands at times carefully into the corners of the spaces created – at times rushes headlong into the sunlight and soft grass of newly discovered lands.

The heart is the warrior now it seems, here where the Work is done. 
And all those matters of sense alone have deepened or disappeared, sinking into the bones like marrow or falling to the ground like baby birds whose fluttering wings have proven themselves ill-suited to the task of sustaining flight for  more than a few brief but epic moments..

Here in this world of green and reaching things, the certainty of Autumn resonates. Dry leaves fall as surely as fresh ones open like tiny hands, grasping at the light of a morning sun.

And yet words fail to capture the Soul of it all.  For in actuality, we are simply called to serve – and the self finds no recourse in this place. . .

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2 Responses to “These days. . .”

  1. Yes, Autumn. My body feels it. How interesting, and odd. Sometimes, even service seems elusive. Best to rake the leaves – compost for the Spring.

    Like

  2. Compost for the Spring…That which we bring in during the Fall harvest will sustain us during the long, cold nights of Winter.

    Have we planted wheat or weeds?

    Like

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