Posts Tagged ‘change’



October 26, 2007

It’s getting colder.  Down into the 40s at night.  The sun sets earlier and rises later.  I walk Hank in the dark in the mornings.  It’s raining a lot.  We’re wearing a lot more clothes.

Putting on my layers this morning made me feel as if I was winding myself up in a cocoon.  Layer of lace, layer of cotton, layer of wool.    I hold the layers close to me, wrap them tightly around me.  I feel the warmth, the smoothness, the beauty and function.  They are my protection -protection from cold, from discomfort, from exposure.  They keep me safe and warm and together so that all my insides can keep doing their jobs.

I kind of cocoon myself every Autumn.  I realized it this morning – I have a very specific pattern.  Starting in the Autumn, I find myself withdrawing into myself.  I feel the need to focus internally and on my family.  I feel the need to be home,  to rid myself of the minutia that tries to force itself deep into our lives without invitation, to choose my words and my actions very carefully – almost as if using any energy unnecessarily is detrimental to me. 

I do a lot of inner work during the colder months.  I discover what parts of me I like and what parts need some work.  I think about my children and my husband and the family we make together.  I think about where I have been and where I want to go.  I think about what I’ve learned and what lessons need to revisit me a few more times.  I think about nourishment nearly continually – nourishment of the body, of the mind, of the heart, of the soul.  I eat a lot of soup – some with my mouth, most with my mind.

I do this every year.  In the past, I have thought something was “wrong” with me when I started to step out of my active social life.  I used to term it “Seasonal Depression,” this need to stay in, stay warm, stay with my family.  I used to think it was something that needed fixing.  And that was the problem.  Buddhists believe that life is suffering – it’s the attempt to avoid suffering that equals pain and misery.  It’s actually a much deeper and more complicated theory than I care to expound on here, but what sounds like a decision to give up and live a life of misery is actually the door to complete happiness.  This morning, putting on my jeans, my camisole, my long sleeved shirt, my sweater, I allowed myself to see the open door and I stepped right through.

I need to bunker down.  I need to semi-isolate myself and do all the introspection that I do during the Autumn and Winter.  I need to do it for the Spring, when I start peeling off the layers, when I start coming out of the cocoon, when I emerge lighter, more beautiful than before.    Then I will fly again.