These last few weeks have been challenging. I’ve had one health crisis after another. In fact it’s been this way since we moved onto Widder Island in March. Sometimes a complete change of environment will do that to a gal. That and menopause!
Because our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual bodies are so intimately connected anything that happens in any of these areas is automatically reflected in the others.
So, I’ve been contemplating my physical mortality, (eye infection, knees that have so much metal in them they clang like a cracked bell if I turn too suddenly, lumps in my thyroid that have put us into a holding pattern until a biopsy reveals what it will reveal) all the not-so-fun changes that ladies of a certain age go through, (and the accompanying emotional roller-coaster ride) and what impact all of the above have on my Spiritual path.
I’m a afternoon/evening person, so the best time for such reflections is the night. Late at night, when the noise of the world fades, and there’s space for the unknown to appear. For fears and inspiration to bleed into this mortal reality of ours.
If we’re lucky, and are courageous, we might have the vision to peer through the veil and wonder at the fierce challenges and wisdom to be found there.
I’ve listened to the wavelets borne across the surface of the water by a chilly breeze that’s the harbinger of winter. I’ve seen the ghostly white silhouettes of the trumpeter swans as they rest on our little lake on their way South.
I haven’t found any great epiphanies waiting for me when I walk down to the lake, torch in hand and thermos of tea at the ready.
I have found a little peace. Enough so that I can go to sleep with a quiet heart.
“One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night” – Germaine Greer, feminist, academic, journalist.
I understand that ‘tis the season to do such Work (between Samhain and Winter Solstice, when the new year is reborn) but, in the words of that great philosopher, Meredith Grey, “Seriously? Seriously?”