I’m just back from two glorious weeks at the ocean. Days spent leaping over and diving into the post-storm foamy waves of the Atlantic. Feeling my thigh muscles come alive peddling up the steep rises on Block Island, then relishing the rush of air parting around my face as I fly down again. Foggy mornings and bright wide-horizoned afternoons. Vermillion sunrises across the eastern sea viewed from my pillow. Lilies and dahlias splashing color on the dining room table. And more than anything, the incredible quality of late summer light.

But the seasonal shift seems suddenly upon me. I’m sure you feel it, too. The cooler nights, the character of light this last week or two, so clear and sparkling as it dapples through mature green leaves. And dawn and dusk stealing slowly, but predictably, more minutes from each day as we swing back toward the light’s balance.

We’re approaching that rare moment when our experience of light and dark comes into perfect balance. This year the autumnal equinox is next Tuesday, September 22nd. Were we to spend more of our days outdoors we’d be unable to ignore this turning, so it seems an auspicious time to allow ourselves to reconnect with the invisible forces that have shaped human existence forever.

Traditionally solstices and equinoxes were times to look inward and take stock. So, that evening we’ll try again to meet at Judy Knight’s home at 530 Stockbridge Road in Lee. We’ll be outside for a portion of the evening, weather permitting, gathered around a fire. We’ll celebrate our abundance and, as we pass into the darker half of the year, set our intentions for what we intend to bring into our lives.

Here’s a relatively unknown fact that has me thinking. Near the equinoxes the speed of change accelerates. Each evening’s darkness comes two to three times sooner than at the solstices when time nearly stands still. For days on end in June the sun sets at the same time. Maybe that’s why they call them the lazy days of Summer.

But we’re in September and there’s nothing lazy about my days! My energy is turned up. It’s as if a rope were pulling me toward what’s to come. I’m making plans. I feel the anticipation of new projects on the horizon, school activities for the boys. White spaces on my calendar are disappearing fast.

But before I rush headlong into overload I’m wishing to take a lesson from this time of balanced light. From these rare moments of equilibrium. I’m wondering what’s calling me toward my own sense of balance? Toward truly honoring what’s foundational to my happiness and fulfillment.

My inner wisdom knows what she needs. And she has great timing. I get hints every afternoon when I can hardly keep my eyes open. Or by the way I’m revved up and ready to go in the morning. By how I feel on a day that I’ve hiked up the mountain or made room for a few minutes of yoga practice.

Sometimes I’m needing more rest; sometimes it’s focused concentration. Some mornings what’s called for is unleashing my type-A dominatrix on those long ignored chores; other days it’s stealing an hour or two with Jamie and Claire and the Outlander series.

Do you sometimes feel embarrassed or guilty when you shift plans midway through something? Maybe take personally that old put-down about women changing our minds. Really I think we’re just continually checking into our early warning system, seeing what can work best for everyone. “Oups, I’m feeling overwhelmed. What can wait till tomorrow?” Flexibility is a high art form when merged with our passion and determination.

So play a little game with me…. promise to check in with yourself today (or tomorrow) at 3 pm. See how you feel. What are you really needing, beneath the desire for a quick sugar or caffeine fix?  Instead of focusing on the downer of what’s not working, you might dig a little deeper to find what’s actually beckoning to you… in this tiny moment of truth. You may find it necessary — even perfect –  to shift your schedule a little to accommodate the one person most in need of your attention and love.

I think that listening, really listening to the wisdom of our own balance could best be called radical self care. We can make excuses and believe the lie that we’re victims of circumstance or our own less-than-optimal choices, or we can begin to make small changes to truly respect ourselves. No one can care for you better than yourself.

See you next Tuesday at Judy’s. Don’t forget to bring along a dish to share…and please RSVP for directions and more info.

Could the same be true for us? Last week’s religious holidays reminded me of the season’s imperative. What’s needing to be left behind to take seriously the journey to the freedom of my own Promised Land? Am I ready to crucify what’s needing to die for resurrection’s new life to emerge?

These are holy-days for the Earth, too. There’s hints of resurrection everywhere. It’s little wonder developing religions tagged their holidays to Earth-based ritual celebrations already in practice.

Every crocus and snowdrop and daffodil pushing up through the thawing soil is an irrepressible celebration of the season. That stiff pile of crunchy dead leaves can’t stop their genetic drive toward growth.

The other day I raked away the dead leaves from the garden. Last summer they helped to give us the oxygen we need for life, but with the autumn their usefulness had ended. Soon they’ll be compost enriching my garden’s soil and next season’s kale and carrots.

Compost is valuable stuff. Check its price at Ward’s. In digging around the tender shoots of my own growth this Spring I’ve come upon a few phrases that could be quite useful in my own personal compost heap. Phrases like "It’s so hard to….!" And "I don’t know."They’re habitual exclamations that pepper my daily discourse. I could just ignore them, but I know these tossed off comments stall my forward movement. They keep me stuck, or at least keep me from seeing the sunshine of my possibility.

Maybe you have similar thoughts or phrases you hold onto… no longer useful debris hanging around your conversation.  So why don’t you try this experiment?

In the next few days begin to listen to yourself. What comes off your tongue when you’re tired? When you’ve packed a little too much into your day? Begin to notice the small negative comments that pinch out good feeling. Or, if you’re brave, ask someone you hang with to share their observations.

Which of your old favorites could stand to be tossed into the pile for composting? What old thought patterns have you outgrown, but just can’t seem to let go of? Or is there some lingering hurt ready to be forgiven and left behind?        

Look with compassion on those little wet blankets that snuck into your conversation once upon a time, that are now, like last fall’s dead leaves, smothering your joy. Next Monday, April 20, we’ll share with one another these tired, no-more-useful phrases to be given away to the composting of my entry way fire – and then bring in the joy. 

Like the decomposing magic of compost, let’s see what happens to our own sticky old turns of phrase when we give them some air in which to transform. Byron Katie suggests we try a turn around. Change one or two words of the old, worn-out thought into a positive.  When I moan that "It’s so hard to…" I can try out "It’s not so hard to….," or even " It’s easy to…."  When I turn around "I don’t know,"I’m reminded that "I do know," and often pleasantly surprised by the truth hidden there. 

We’ll walk through this process together next Monday, but until then, experiment with the turn around idea. And the possibility that what you’re ready to compost can really transform into the rich soil of your soul’s next growing season.

There’s new life outside. Let’s clear away what’s hindering our own rebirth. Do you really have any other choice!