Singing for Autumn.

As fall starts to gently creep in here in days, cold days, hot days, cold days... and I begin to see the top of the ocean that I have created for myself from the view of about 100 feet under, I also start to wonder what will be up there at the top? 

Yoga Therapy 500 hour teacher training is done at the end of October (hooray!!) and as I described to the group in Asheville during one of our circle times together, I feel as if I'm making a soup but I just can't be sure of the flavor. What will come of this time that I've spent learning and growing? 

I know that I have gained some amazing knowledge. I know that I have met some amazing people. I have sat in meditation and done a lot of work in yoga and personally. I feel stronger in myself and more at ease with myself than ever before. That does not mean, however, that I know what comes next. I most certainly do not. I love, love, love what I do. Teaching and practicing yoga both feel very authentic and sit well with me. Power yoga is still my love and we will see what becomes of the Therapeutic Yoga in the months to come.

As busy as I have been over the last 6-9 months, I have realized the need for being in the moment so much more. And so as I look up, I remember to look down and see what is at eye level. Right now, that is a desk with piles and piles of papers. The reference to drowning being quite literal. I am so ready for October 20th to be here and to have this part of the journey behind me. While I am eternally grateful, I also need a bit of a rest. Autumn is perfect timing.

Song for Autumn~

In the deep fall
    don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
    the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
    freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
    warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
    inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
    the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
    vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
    its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
    the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.
~ Mary Oliver


Popular posts from this blog

The Best Savasana Songs on the Planet.

Tyler Knott Gregson Poetry

Growing Pains