Weathering

Pink laced this morning's sunrise, forgoing the gray skies that have been lingering since I returned home 12 days ago. Our own VI version of Seasonal Affective Disorder with non-stop days of clouds with rain, flash floods and an unswimmable ocean. It's been a while since I've seen the sun climb from or sink into the Carribean Sea with its golden weaving of peach, yellow, lavender and blue. It felt like a true win to get a glimpse of the blushing sunrise as I walked with a friend.

But we are in the season of going into the dark and letting go of the light. Not only with daylight saving's time in the States, but with the seasonal switch from the fall equinox to the winter solstice. Turning the dial towards lost daylight, fallen leaves, collected harvests and winter wardrobes. And with all that's going on in the world, there's a need to go within rather than be pin balled around by to what's going on beyond. A better chance of weathering the weather internally versus trying to control what's happening externally.

While the atmosphere feels heavier and the darkness feels darker, I need to remember that darkness always come before the dawn. I need to remember that this season of dying, remembering the dead, caring for the departing and nurturing the ones still living are part of the life cycle. The Day of the Dead / All Souls day, after all, occur for a reason in the midst of this light waning season. I need to remember that things are meant to go dormant and are restored by slowing down. Like the giant maple trees I hug on walks through the woods, come fall they shed their sky reaching leaves and tend to their deeply buried roots within the soil to be reborn again with buds in the spring. I need to remember that grieving what was and is no longer opens space for grace and gratitude and, perhaps, celebration.

In this season of going dark, there's a collective sigh of grief. There is no right way to survive the grief, there is no tread worn path to follow and their is no way to bypass it without serious consequences. Grief comes in bite sizes and giant servings, with our losses leaving holes that are vast and wide or deep and narrow. The only universal truth with grief is that everyone experiences it, some more than others.

It can't be a coincidence that I pulled the 5 of cups from my Tarot deck this morning. (I'm a novice puller of the Tarot and use books and teachers help me interpret the cards, so don't quote me here.) The 5 of Cups is all about loss and feeling the loss. The astrological aspect of the card holds Mars in Scorpio- fire in water- and speaks of deep disappointments and boiling points. The planet Mars symbolizes passion, drive, ignition and ambition with a shadow side of anger, conflict and destruction. The zodiac sign of Scorpio can be described as emotional, loyal, intuitive and mysterious with its shadow leaning towards moodiness, secrecy, volatility and single mindedness.

All said, I think the 5 of cups showed up for me as a means to face my own darkness, to figure out where to release the steamy vapor brewing inside of me as I consider the death that surrounds me; in my dog, Cybil, who is on her last legs, in the 30th anniversary of my dad's death, in the loss of 3 friend's mothers over the course of spring, summer and fall in the last year. Can I allow these feelings to be here and remain kind to myself as I struggle with them? Can I trust that these despairing emotions will pass? Do I need to withdraw and feel, cry, write and watch movies that make me more sad, a la Scorpio? Or do I need to get out and get busy, work out, watch action movies, plan gatherings, call friends like Mars? There's no right answer except calling a spade a spade, acknowledging the darkness and the depths and practicing not getting overwhelmed by the state of things. Seeing the forest through the trees and knowing there is an exit.

In the end, with destruction comes rebirth, with heartache comes the acknowledgement of knowing love, with voids come spaces for opportunity. And it's okay not to feel okay about it all. I hope you are taking care of your spirit in this maelstrom of dark days and are finding the light in other ways. May we put our gardens to bed, tend to the steam in our hearts and trust that this too shall pass.

With peace, light & vitamin D,

St. Sunshine