Harvesting the Gold

Equinox/Harvest

Here’s a song I wrote 24 years ago for a ceremony at The Healing Light Center Church:

Equinox, equal day and night

Equinox, equal dark and light

Balance me at this time of the year

Balance me, casting out any fear

Equinox, let me rise up in the spring

In the Fall, let me dance and let me dream

Balance me at these points on the wheel

Balance me, let me heal

I sang it Friday in my Creative Life Writing class, and again on Sunday at an intimate gathering of healers - on the Autumnal Equinox! It felt great to share it on the actual factual day. 

After singing, I only shook for a short ten minutes each time instead of the familiar past norm of thirty to sixty minutes. This time, sweaty pits and palms, icy fingers and big shuddery, jolty quaky-shakes were minimized so that they were mostly indiscernible from ordinary metabolic processes. Progress, not perfection. It's good to get out of the closet and to know I won't die from being seen. Shadows and light... what will my harvest be?

What’s the “gold” for me to reap?

Write me another song? Play me another game of Candy Land with the Grandie?

Harvesting the gold may mean addressing the shadow, my dear. Robert Johnson, in ‘Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche’ says we buried that gold at the back of the closet along with our shadow material.

NO! Not again! Too many years being KO’d during shadow boxing. Too often the darkness wins.

Well, dear, how you gonna get to the gold without gettin’ your hands dirty?

Mmmmmm... point taken. I’ll take a stab at it. Hand me that shovel will ya?

Sure, deary, but it’s a garden spade; not a shovel.

Calling a spade a “spade” - how like you to be so precise. No wonder it’s hard to write when I have to dot every “i” and cross every “t” - make all the grammatical edges smooth as glass. Well, KISS MY...., you evil taaaassssk master!

I’m writing up a storm which will devour your sour precision and overrun the banks of marble with a guard at every door. I’m going to run and run and run ‘til the words run dry... THEN I’ll think about the picky, poopy, picayune precision you proffer. Perhaps I’ll prefer your profession after the blast of creativity, which leaves embers on the skid marks, has come to its own organic resting resolution.

Suit y’self, deary.

Balance is sometimes found in the big swings first - like big brother’s weight on his end of the teeter totter keeping me up, feet running in space, at the other end, until I invite him toward center, and 

                        down 

                                     I 

               

                                           float. 

Soon, we find perfect balance. 

                   Effortless ease.

What will my mining yield from the back of the closet... what other treasures might I find in the shadows?

We’ll see...

I intend to keep diggin'!

My friend D'Lanie says, "Life is a garden and I dig it!"

Happy Harvests

Happy Autumnal Equinox

Happy first day of Autumn!!!