Sometimes, the weather and the calendar seem out of sync with each other, but not this time. The calendar says it’s the start of autumn, and that’s exactly what it feels like to me.
The temperatures have been dropping a few degrees every few days, though with the way the highs and lows have vacillated in sawtooth fashion throughout the summer, I fully expect it to get hotter again at some point before wintertime comes. If and when that occurs, those of us who have yet to be completely shackled by politically correct language may then refer to it (clearly with no disrespect to Indigenous people) as Indian summer, but I’ll wait for that to happen before speaking further on it.
If seasons are a color, then autumn is gold — the soft, soulful kind, not the shiny, luxurious type; spiritual abundance in contrast to material wealth.
It’s a time of philosophical introspection, when we ponder the changes such as the changing temperatures, changing colors and the change in the light; changes that take us from outside to inside, socially and spiritually.
Autumn is harvest time, which means one thing in the church or the classroom but something else out in the fields, where it demands long hours and hard work picking, gathering, bottling, canning, sorting, storing, selling and celebrating what you have worked so hard to produce these past many months.
I am proud to say, also, that for me, autumn (and now half of winter, too) is football season, which meant one thing to me as a player aspiring to Pure Self but means something else as a fan watching on TV. As a fan, I’ve gone from fervent and fiery to cold and indifferent, from giving it way too much time and energy to hardly any. But the first few weeks of this season have taken me quite by surprise — as far as how many games I’ve watched and how engaged and entertained I’ve been. So, I’m re-proclaiming, for now, my fandom, and I am thrilled to acknowledge and embrace how dear to my heart this particular aspect of autumn is and has always been.
In saying that, it occurs to me that this shall be what autumn is about for me this year: recalling, acknowledging and embracing the things that are dear to my heart, and in this way, consciously “connecting” to the heart of my heart. In doing so, it shall serve as my own private protest, and as a counterbalance to the ever-encroaching forces of technology (which, while they obviously bestow beautiful benefits and increased capabilities upon us, also and at the same time, pose less obvious threats to our well-being and humanity).
The mysterious “heart particles” that get activated and distributed through heartful human exchange cannot be fully conveyed via optical fibers or other digital means of transmission; they require the unprocessed sound of the human voice, the unapproximated sensation of human touch, the unmistakable power of one’s presence.
In my estimation, it is a deficiency of these vague and elusive particles, in both number and quality, that leads to a different type of heart disease that adversely affects our ability to care and empathize, leaving us wanting for lively human connection and a real and present experience of, and deep appreciation for, life and being alive.
So, yes, it is autumn — the beginning of the end of another year. I shall bow my head in deference and recognition of having made it through another cycle and another stretch — of road and of time.
I shall reflect on the ups and downs, the challenges and rewards, the joy and the sadness, and I shall visualize the golden light surrounding and infusing self and all that I behold. I shall search for lines of poetry, experiment with new flavors and concoctions grown from the garden, toast with and to the fruits of our labors … and I’ll turn on the game, and enjoy these fine fall days, nights and mornings.
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