On a grey Saturday afternoon recently I finally got some pictures of these beautiful swans near the Trojan Nuclear Facility. I like to stop there for a picnic when work takes me in that direction.
Apparently they built a
nuclear reactor here, then it was decommissioned. Funny how much stuff they left. I'll bet those buildings would be a kick to explore. But the overarching point here is that this place is a really good metaphor for how I tend to feel this time of year.
The sun is lost. The rain comes. The air sharpens. We all, on a deep level, check the condition of the feathers in our nests and begin a spirited phase of destruction and renewal. Most people I know see this as depression, but that depression is a phase of healing. It hurts as we let go of things we thought would weather the winter and now know won't. It bends our backs having to gather forage and shelter, and causes anxiety when there is a lack. We feel more strongly the need to have all our ducks in a row.
They call Spring the time for "Spring cleaning". No doubt there. But we all reap in the Fall. We see glimpses of Truth's transience, It's insubstantiality. All the cardboard boxes full of our reality, well, they do what cardboard boxes do here. We look, with tear-filled eyes, on the sloppy mush that once provided structure and security.
My son's back in the emergency ward again. Unstable, suicidal ideation. There are aspects of my life that are very lush, attractive, and fragrant. There are aspects that are chaotic, and extremely, chronically painful. I have to take shelter in the real. I have to house myself under these grey skies, and savor the cold rain when it falls on my changing body and soaks my female bones. I have to find comfort in this chill. I have to be at peace here. There is no shelter from the reap of the Fall.
It helps me when I find a support system to be a part of. I can feel protected and beautiful, even in a cold, forgotten place.
See you next trip! Rosalynnda loves youuuuu!!!!
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