with all my intelligence"
We are deep in transition what was and what will be: between knowing what is coming, totally unable to control it. Last week I longed to be outside, running in the loving sunshine, knowing it would be gone. A fierce wind has replaced those sunbeams shaking every last leaf from the trees. Last week I ran through a fairy forest of gold and bronze, today I am inside looking out. Rain comes down in sheets and it is difficult to love this time. I dress in layers, but my nose is still cold. My monarchs are gone, enjoying the warmer southern climates where temperatures are more inviting. There is a sense of grief that permeates the cells. An inconsolable grief I am unable to comfort with promises of spring. Can I love this cold wind? Can I find glory and gratitude in it's efforts to sweep away the illusions we harbor of a mild winter, and a seductive autumn. I rely on the collective intelligence, far more knowing than the puny intellect. The intelligence intrinsic to my very being and loving in it's ferocity. The same intelligence which repaired my ankle and M's collarbone and turned my backyard into a jungle paradise filled with butterflies. What is the wind talking about? Is it clearing the way for another season of wonder? Normally I would crank up the heat, check the airfare to warmer places of endless summer and resist the place I'm in, resist the wind, and pretend it isn't happening. I would chose to disassociate from the event and my feelings. But today I refuse these givens, these old habits and patterns born from an instinct to survive, to individuate. I chose to be with this fierce wind because it is here and now, rather than live in the memory of last week's sun or next summer's butterflies. This moment is enough time, the perfect time, to love in glory and gratitude.