Winds
Blowing in a new Season
The other day a storm came through. The winds were fierce, ripping the dry, autumn leaves and brittle twigs from the trees. It howled and whipped in a ferocious, threatening way. When the storm passed, there was damage. A portion of my fence was down, and a large, stray branch was held in the limbs of my Redbud, torn from one of her neighbors. I walked around the block and saw several trees damaged, and the streets littered with leaves, pine needles, nuts, and pinecones.
Today the winds are gentle. The sun is shining, and the bright, colorful leaves dance in its light, while some break loose and drift peacefully against a bright, clear, blue sky. It is tranquil, playful, beautiful.
The winds have brought with it cool, crisp air — clear evidence of a new season. This season offers a harvest from the toil of summer and an undeniable path that leads to dissolution. It is a season of releasing, letting go, death, and decay that nourishes the land and is necessary for the renewal of life promised in Spring.
It’s a beautiful analogy for the seasons of life. I sense a strong wind in my soul, which is stirring up a longing for change — a new season. However, to experience a new season with fresh growth and new life, I must let the old die. I must be willing to release and create space. I must allow decay and trust the nourishment delivered with it will bring fruitfulness for the birth of something new.
Even when things are just not right and you know it in the depths of your being, it’s so hard to let go. The unlimited potential of fertile ground is ripe with uncertainty. We plant the seeds that hold the possibility of our hopes and dreams, but we cannot know if they will grow. We can’t predict the future harvest. Too often, a crop is blighted with disease or pests, and we are reminded of our belief in scarcity. So we hold onto what we have; we hoard our misery because it seems safer than the barrenness of a fresh start.
I am at that place — at the threshold of a new season. It’s right there! It urges me toward it. It seems to want me as much as I want it, but these damn beliefs in scarcity and tragedy keep me planted in the fallow soil of what I know. Somehow, I intuit that if I do not move, I cannot grow and thrive, that I will rot. But I also recognize that the alternative requires I let go and endure a winter of uncertainty where the winds howl and unexpected things may fly at me and threaten injury.
There is something so invigorating and vibrant about being in a mighty wind — the prāna of the Earth. You feel so alive! It’s like we are reminded of the dormant power each human possesses, but we have forgotten because of fear. When I encounter that sense of potency, that tremendous force, I am enlivened. It is incredible — until my rational mind starts listing the risks. It happens instantly, unconsciously, and involuntarily. These thoughts urge me to be cautious — suspicious. This often results in me abandoning inspiration, seeking shelter, and getting out of the wind.
Yet, I do not want to seek shelter. I love that sense of aliveness, and I’m tired of playing it safe. I think I’m nearly ready to release my belief in scarcity and embrace uncertainty. This spiritual path I am on is frequently not rational at all. So many unexpected, beautiful, intuitive synchronicities happen. I experience it all the time, maybe I always have, but my logical, fearful, programmed mind wouldn’t let me see — too risky.
It’s a balance, I think. I need to mindfully shed the things that do not support my dreams but not be in a rush. I must find the flow and go with it, open to release and let go of everything and sit with uncertainty along the way. Faith, patience, courage are required to get more freedom, creativity, and love, but I can’t get in my own way.
More and more, my prayers are to release old limiting beliefs and to be willing to move forward with faith, though the path is not entirely clear. I can trust myself to handle whatever comes. I can step into my power and face the mighty winds of change. It’s time to untether. Maybe I’ll be whipped about, but I am durable, right?
I read a poem this morning about Autumn by Joyce Rupp. It said
Blessed are you, autumn,
with your flair for drama
you call to the poet in our hearts,
“return to the earth, become good soil;
wait for new seeds.”
It’s the waiting that’s so arduous, but it’s clearly what I’m called to do. Today, living big is merely preparing soil, wanting, and waiting while the winds blow in a new season.
