Doorsteps & Footprints …

 

Raining Gold, and No One Knows...

The Call of Fall.

It speaks and we Listen.

There’s something reassuring about this.  It’s the smells of dying leaves and the colors stirred by November’s winds.  Perhaps a Childhood we once knew.

It speaks of Cycles.  Old Age.  Endings and Birthings.  Nature’s voice – again – among our many Trials and Distractions.  We settle into the warm winds and let them take Umbrellas for a ride.  Like Mary Poppins we Fly.  Over trails, worries, hills, dread, sabotage, relinquishment, hibernation, dreams.

And the familiar song calls us back.  “Us”.  Our Life.  Our Path.  Our feeling of wholeness, belonging, resolve, rest, arrival.

Doorsteps for our Footprints.

It’s a beautiful time of year.

Our region has been blessed this fall with some Days of Sun.  This is the Best Way – in fact the Only Way … to truly see the beauty of the season.  Vancouver’s perennial rain has taken many tolls on many souls.  We won’t get started on that.  Let us instead, dear congregation – sing the Hymn Of Autumn Sun.  Spectacular!  Uplifting!  Cinematography at its best.

The Homely Ancient Wine of Autumn-Land ...

So, the Triumph.

The war with no battle.  The win-win situation of this Elemental Nature that gives and gives and gives.  Our only challenge is to engage in it and bathe in it and delight in it and drink from it and revive our tired tissues in its fragrant and nourishing breezes.

This is the “church” of the “god” that really DOES exist.  The jubilant voice of Nature, within us and without.  Pay attention to the within … and you’ll be blown away by the without.

Without the within, there is no without, or the without – at most – is just passing scenery, a foreign movie by an unknown director.  Within the within, there is the Director, Producer, Cameraman and Audience … all-together-now breathing in unison … this infinite, momentary, delicious and delightful nugget of the sublime: one moment in the passing fad called “My Life”.

Noteworthy, I assure you.

Appreciation.  Of this time we have.  And it does pass by faster, as we age.  We’re told this, and we acknowledge this.  Something about the cycles and seasons and Wheels of Fire that spin us: they burn an important message into our heart: “Mortality”.

Mortality.

*Hmmm.*

A friend recently narrated an experience she’d had at a party, where the hostess made a sarcastic remark about looking in the mirror and seeing the signs of age progressing.  But after that off-handed dismissal, the subject was changed, and not re-visited.

And she wondered why.  And we shook our heads.  Well we know why.  It’s one of those unwritten, but blindly obeyed rulings about what we can and can’t say.  The “approved discussions” at social gatherings include, movies, politics, the weather … but not Mortality.  Well, isn’t that peculiar.

Astounding Morning Invitation to Sip on the Nectar of the Moment ....

We all celebrate the Day We Arrived.  Every year. And others’ Big Days. The congrats and confetti.  And may you enjoy many more.  But that “other” big day … the one that awaits us all … *uh* … let’s not go there.

Well the TREES GO THERE.  Look at that one right above us.  Those leaves are not coming back.  And in their passing, Their Mortality … they Dance.  They Delight.  They speak beauties indescribable to the eyes.  They literally sing.

Perhaps they’re humble.

Perhaps they haven’t accumulated SUV’s and RRSP’s and little picket-fence cabins on the Lakeside.  They don’t boast and swagger and hesitate and doubt and waste endless time pursuing fantasies of an endless “mind”.  Perhaps they’re just obeying their innate blueprint.

Perhaps the only problem is that we don’t know the sweetness of our Mortality, something like the smell of November Leaves.  The sweetness of our Mortality is that it’s touched by the Breath of Our Immortality, the immortal within.  Without the knowledge of this, then, all we have is religion, beliefs, the mascara of the mind, the man-made perfume of the pundits and priests.  That Old Musty Smell.

Doorstep Yet To Travel

So, my Blueprint Sings on this Quiet day.  Another setting sun.  Another leaf departs from another branch, never to return.  Never to look back, to lament to regret, to grieve.

This is one Doorstep all of our Footprints will pass over.  No need to knock. But something in the Dance of Life carries us, loves us, informs us, whispers the Essential Notices in our ears.  And our True Nature Speaks.

We Listen.

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