season shift

Here in northern Europe there is an undeniable season shift.

I am not always good in seasonal transitions. Sometimes I drag my heels, severely reluctant to embrace something new, even spring. Perhaps especially spring with its vulnerability and newnesses.

A few weeks ago I went though an episode of not-enough-summer panic. This happens to me when the sunny days of summer have not amounted to enough to banish the severity of winter from my being, something that is more pressing when winters cling on into April and even May. This year it was more ferocious because of working relentlessly in June, so that my actual summer felt like it did not start til mid-July whereupon it coincided with wild winds and tempestuous days and finding myself ill in the only sunny ones.

Anyhow, as is the way of things, the panic turned out to be completely unfounded because I recovered to find myself tipped into a month of seeming endless sunshine, festivals, picnics, swimming and holiday. I am replenished in deep places and have a moment to contemplate autumn.

Somehow my replenishment seems to be contested. It really is there, I am certain, but doubts seem to circle around. I want to give myself over to autumn, to the thrills small – new stationery, new fashions redolent of school uniform – and large – wild projects, startling insights, new initiatives.

I am finding my way into the right position to surf the wave of autumn. My ambitions feel like they wildly outstrip the meagreness of chronological time, a perennial dilemma. But, as I tell myself, it is all in the positioning. So I write my way into this approach and that, testing things.

I want to embrace and delight in this season from the deep contentment, from a peaceful inner order. It feels like a kind of maturity and a sign of my own new inner harmony.

So I have been clearing some spaces and taking care of things and not letting new projects run away with themselves, but serve the older yet equally important places of consolidation and honouring existing commitments.

And writing my way into the right inner posture, taming myself.

year of the poem – philosophy

The writing and thinking about the (as yet unrevised) ‘washed up’ poem has left a domino rally of thoughts tipping over in my mind.  The idea that the poem was teaching me how to write it was phenomenal.  But the next thought topped it; perhaps it was true of all things.

Paying close attention is the essence, for me, of what it means to be a poet.  The poet leans in to the idea or thought or person or moment or object, listens intently with her whole being, and in that listening, the secrets of the poem are revealed.  No listening, no poem.  No attention, no inspiration. No patience, no-thing.

The idea that this might be true of all things did not itself come out of nowhere.  As I mentioned before, I read some lines a little while ago with the phrase ‘you are truly the poetry of God’. This idea of being poetry has lingered.  I have spent some of the time on the journey between my home and the café where I do my work pondering this; what if life was inherently poetic?  What does it mean to be the ‘poetry of God’ (whether or not one believes in an actual God)?  What am I learning from poems that is true of life?

In my (paid) work, there is a lot of time spent learning theory and models and then ‘applying’ it to people, to work with them better.  This has value, but recently it’s been making me restless.  What other ways might there be to learn better how to create together?

The idea that people (and projects, and all things) have a poetic nature is liberating because it simplifies things down to one thing; pay close attention; the person, thing or project (or self) will tell you who and what it is and is becoming. It will almost reel you in to its field so that you start thinking and acting in the way that will help create it. You do not have to be afraid that you don’t understand or know or have the skills yet, if you pay close attention it will reveal each step when you’re ready. It is beautiful.

This is also very helpful for me because I am continually doing work that I have never (or no-one has ever) done before.  I am constantly faced by projects which are an entire unknown.   I love this idea because as I lean into the project, listen carefully – even do actual listening to the people involved, it will tell me how to co-create it.

(A funny note:  I tried to make this thought process into a poem – I thought it would be fitting -but it would not go at all; it didn’t want to be a poem.)