And Thus, The Wheel Turns Again

Fall always speak to me of the new year--I can't quite get myself to believe the January date. Silly Romans and their non-intuitive calendar.

Many cultures past and present celebrate a time during autumn as the new year. This has always felt more "right."

This week is the autumnal equinox, or Mabon, or first day of Fall. Whatever you call it, it is one of the two times per year when day and night are equal length. In the neo-Pagan tradition, it is the second of the harvest festivals.

The Fall is compelling. It is a time of bounty and many new beginnings; it is also a time of slow deaths.

What will you begin? What will you offer to the bonfire of change? What is presently in your life--physically or metaphorically--that no longer serves your best interests? What do you need to shed in order to nurture your highest good?

These are the questions I ask myself this time every year. It is a scary time in many ways.

Abandonment

The writers I admire most seem to be able to set aside their fear of judgement. Their writing is passionate and scary and bizarre and unsafe. They write as though they have abandoned the rest of the world--that in those hours and days of creation they are utterly one with all that challenges them as people.

To create like this is to ride a searing edge of all that is considered sane and rational. It is throwing yourself off a cliff; into icy, churning waters when you can't swim. It is to enter the purportedly haunted house armed with only a candle and two matches.

I ache to write at this level. I'm not sure how to cast aside all the fear that holds me back. I wear my excuses like armor.