Constancy is Unnatural…

Tornado touching land from storm clouds above

…and will change. At some point.

Dark skies with objects hurling in the air and a collapsing house from a cyclone
Photo by Jonny Lindner on Pixabay

This summer of exhaustive change whirled like a tornado snatching dear ones from my path. In three months I’ve experienced rapid and complete loss from news of 14 deaths — nine of them close to me. Barely catching my breath, we’ve also just lost the healing space where we’ve hand drummed for over 15 years.

I admit, change often feels like a blustery, cold wind in my life rather than a soothing, summer breeze. Raised in a dysfunctional home, I became an ACOA and HSP — frazzled by chaos and discord, and craving stability and harmony.

If I continually resist change, though, the Universe sweeps in, eliminating any more chances or choices to get on board. Suddenly, (at least it feels that way, even if I’ve dilly-dallied for ages) I’m hurled with hurricane force into new situations — whether desired or not, whether I like it or not, and whether I feel courageous or not. So, instead of latching on tightly and refusing to let go, I’m more inclined now to accept and release. Note:  it’s not always immediate and it doesn’t mean I always like it.


Change is welcomed when we are the ones initiating it.

 But, when it’s thrown upon us, our response is often quite different.


The calendar indicates when I can reasonably expect to see leaves falling, snow flying, buds blooming. Even if it isn’t exactly on schedule, I feel comfortable knowing that the next season is around the corner, hence, what to expect next. It’s the unanticipated adversity —  like tornadoes, Nor’easters (and precipitous deaths) that jolt me.

Rocks Jutting through the Water
Photo by Frank Winkler on Pixabay

Still, I’m learning like everyone else on this journey called life. My headstrong adolescence pressed through storms, and my unguided young adulthood blindly maneuvered rocky, melodramatic situations. In mid-adulthood, the fog began lifting, offering clearer, smoother sailing — but only through a widened perspective and attitude of enhanced acceptance.

My Five Stages of Acceptance

By that I mean growing out of questioning, “Why me, or us or this?” to lamenting disappointment, to bemoaning perplexity, to the sighing resignation of “It is what it is,” to realizing the changing nature of the seasons is the flow of life. Change is the perfectly natural progression. For it to be anything otherwise equals stagnation and death.


As my perspective changes, so does my life.


ishant-mishra-K8hLK2M1ZBw-unsplash
Photo by Ishant Mishra on Unsplash

So now, when immense change occurs, I endeavor to exchange fear or disappointment with faith and acceptance that everything is working out exactly as it’s meant to be. While intellectually understanding death as transformation eases the loss, it doesn’t completely erase my feelings. For other changes, I remind myself that space is being created for something better…and that the gift may not always appear how I envision it — another reason for due diligence in living consciously and welcoming doors of opportunity.


Each of us processes life and change differently, and at different times in our life.


While still feeling an emptiness from losing Bess and other friends this summer, my heart slowly mends by shifting focus from loss to fulfillment. Having more leeway to be away from home now I’ve planned two bucket list journeys for 2020 — Turks & Caicos and Cotswolds, England.

A close friend processed her loss quite differently when her dog suddenly died this summer. (He was panting at 7PM and dead by 10PM.)  Feeling so distraught, she brought home brother and sister puppies a week later. While they are adorable, she forgot how much work they are and is now so tied to home, she cannot leave even for day trips. Change comes in all sizes, just like pennies, nickles, dimes and quarters…

How do you process change? Has it been the same throughout your life, or evolved one way or the other? Do you welcome change or close your eyes and shut the door on it, only to have it forced open later?

 

 

Scotland’s Ecclesiastical Blue Skies

Perthshire Mountains Scotland

“It was a beautiful, bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it.” — Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

 

Scotland's Perthshire Mountains

Oh so true. I took this photo of the endless blue sky and Perthshire Mountains on my recent visit to Scotland…

Star Pyramid in Scotland near Stirling Castle

…and this one too, of the Star Pyramid, pointing to Scotland’s heavens. Also known as the Martyrs Monument, it stands just beyond the southeast side of Stirling Castle near the Valley Cemetery.

Two large grey ashlar sandstone spheres are carved with lines of latitude and longitude and flank a set of steps leading up the hill to the monument. Each side of the structure is aligned 33 degrees off a perfect north south alignment. A large bronze eagle was part of the sculpture until it disappeared in the 1970’s.

Erected in 1863 as a memorial to all who suffered martyrdom for civil and religious liberty in Scotland, the monument was commissioned by nurseryman William Drummond who was obsessed with religion.

Close up view of Star Pyramid in Scotland near Stirling Castle

Each side of the Star Pyramid contains a white marble crown, thistle, rosette, and an open bible. Each of these items is one-third the distance from each other which some suggest are masonic connections particularly since masonic symbolism uses the pyramid to represent stability and endurance, and the rosette for love, joy, and silence. A different sunken relief text with reference to verses from the Psalms appears on each side:  Union Banner, Rock of Ages, Covenant Rest, Thrown of Right.

As it neared completion, William Drummond supposedly sealed in the monument’s hollow confines a Bible and a Confession of Faith to recall the principles of the Scottish Reformation. Eternal blue skies often feel like Heavens’ embrace to me and no doubt to William Drummond too.

Tomato Companions

Well, they may not be very mannerly — inviting themselves along — but they can be cheery company.

I didn’t plant tomatoes this year and had no intentions of doing so — either before or after my early June trip to Scotland. My gardening enthusiasm this season was lost with Bess, knowing she would no longer be with me. For the last 14 years, we cherished our outdoor turf together — she bringing her Frisbee to me while I tended the gardens. Being outside now felt too empty without her.

But, Mother Nature had other ideas. When I returned to discover tomato seedlings all over the asparagus patch — undoubtedly from seeds hiding in the compost, those unsought tomato plants beckoned me. After replanting the strongest ones in their own section I thought That’s it. If they can thrive on their own they will. I’m not going to spend much more time out here this summer…

Soon though, I mixed up Epsom salt fertilizer for a few weekly treatments and let Nature take its course. Sufficient summer rainfall eliminated my need for watering every day. As the plants grew taller and taller, I got the stakes and ties out. In a few more weeks, the green fruit gladdened a little part of me. Basil went in next as a companion plant and also for the makings of bruschetta, caprese salad, and a tasty pasta dish (although I’d cut way down on carbs, at least before Scotland).

Baskets and trays of cherery, grape and plum tomatoes
This week’s tomato harvest…and there’s still more.

For the last month I’ve been inundated with tomatoes.  Cherry tomatoes. Grape tomatoes. Half dollar size tomatoes that I don’t recall planting in previous years.  Some plum tomatoes and a few beefsteaks also appeared. I’ve given away baskets, bags and trays full and still have more on my counter, in the freezer, and on the vine. I never intended to grow tomatoes this season but they apparently intended to accompany me.

There’s something to be said for nature’s curative energy. Whether it’s the thrill of getting my hands in the dirt after the spring thaw, or the excitement of watching something grow, or the serene feeling of sunlight and fresh air, the only dialogue from bees and birds in the quiet of the day. In mourning Bess, I turned away from the solace of the gardens, disremembering it is their natural nurturing that made me a gardener in the first place. And when there’s a bountiful harvest? Well, the joy of giving brings about a smile — for the receiver and for me.


Featured image by Lukas Bieri from Pixabay

Anon

September tugs at August

October overshadows September.


Leaves falling in August

a premature ejaculation of autumn

leaves one unfulfilled

and looking to September

for more.

More warmth, more comfort,

a lingering embrace

to hold on

to the moments of bliss.

As an adult, I love September

and August too.

It’s just too soon

to feel this cool

like the afterglow

dissipating before daylight,

or a lover

tacitly

closing the door.

September, where are you

in October’s shadow?

The tomatoes are as green

as my naiveté

the scarce flowers

say goodbye…

It’s too soon to feel this cool.

Sadness hangs in the air

like unripened fruit,

July leaves gyrating brown,

their youth lost

before prime.

 Not ready

to

let

go.

Summer is over

before full bloom —

the whirlwind pursuit

with lackluster end.

Dramatic photo of imposing clouds at sunset over lonely landscape