It’s the first official day of Fall, and where I live this day begins wrapped in fog, a habitat, that for me rings tender and safe.   

I feed the kitties and meditate, start with something I read yesterday that leads to this: 

Inhale: Receive.  Exhale: Fluidity.   

Two simple words propel and anchor my breath: Receptivity and Fluidity.

I open Pir Elias Amidon’s book, Free Medicine, to this:

“When Robert Kennedy lay dying from an assassin’s bullet, his blood spreading across a kitchen floor, he opened his eyes and asked, “Is everyone all right?” I like to believe that question eased his homecoming. At least it taught me this counter-intuitive calculus: when you are in need, give.”  

That brings me to reflect on leaves.  In fall, the days shorten and night lengthens with a yawn and a stretch.  Time for rest.

Temperatures cool.  Leaves stop making food.  Chlorophyll breaks down, and green disappears, giving way to red, orange, and yellow.  A breeze blows through and leaves drop to decompose, nourishing and protecting the ground, Mother Earth. 

With increasing light and the vibratory call of birds, new leaves return in spring. 

Living, dying, giving, receiving, all cycles as One.

Yesterday morning when the fog returned leaving one tree on the high ridge exposed.
Now today, a more complete wrap, no trees.


I love this time of year.  Yesterday I set up a meditation spot in this room, made it my perception of cozy and safe, and sat down at 5 today to meditate.  In June it would be light, an invitation to be out in the yard with plants, but today the dark was a cape, and slowly, the sky came to light.

Sitting quietly, eyes closed, lid meeting the ball of my eye, I had a sense of what it is to be a pumpkin in Autumn in the field, that final growing, and nurturing of inner space and seeds.  The question then becomes: Would I prefer to be a Jack-o-lantern, or made into a pie? It’s rare to be both as they are two different kinds of pumpkin, but, hey, it’s my meditation, so why not?  Oh, but we meditate for all beings, so I’m all kinds of pumpkin, and pumpkins are a variety of squash and so I expand out into the vegetable and mineral kingdom and beyond.

And there we have the power of meditation opening imagination, which brings empathy, compassion, and understanding to all our parts, especially the part in my case, which imagines my pureed pumpkin self mixed with sugar, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, eggs, and cream to be placed in a crust to bake.  Okay, I’m far afield, far from my tangled vines and roots in the field.

Meditation complete, I rise to meet the sky, eyelids raised, and then, I open to this in Thich Nhat Hanh’s tiny book, How to Love.

Goodwill Is Not Enough

Your good intentions are not enough; you have to be artful. We may be filled with goodwill; we may be motivated by the desire to make the other person happy, but out of our clumsiness, we make them unhappy. Walking, eating, breathing, talking, and working are all opportunities to practice creating happiness inside and around you.  Mindful living is an art, and each of us has to train to be an artist.

I think of balance. The sky comes to light, untrained, and it’s a moving display, and I understand the human need for training.  We are primitive beings.

That’s why I meditate, and in this balancing, I am Jack-o-lantern and pie, field, sky, and light.

I harvest, harvested, in Autumn delight.  

Happy Harvest Moon Eve!

Bridging the parts in me