An Ode to the Disappearing Year
George Harrison pointed up to the sky and exclaimed, “Here comes The Sun”! I look up every time I hear that. About a year ago my life changed and that began the beginning of an odyssey. Change comes as it always does – for its ransom (to quote the song “Beautiful Thing” by The Tragically Hip). Change can make us feel insecure, unworthy, and anxious. I felt all of those things on a regularly occurring basis. A year later, having watched the seasons swivel, I see the Sun.
I lost my job. At the time, although it brought about a dose of anxiety, I was relieved. Then my husband lost his job. Again, I was nervous and relieved. I slowly realized that I had asked for a change in my life. The guise it came in was surprising but not entirely unexpected. As the summer came into bloom, so did everything around me and in me. It was a troubled path with strained heredity relations and the loss of a beloved fuzzy companion. The bright side of the road made itself apparent and was available from which to draw comfort and strength. I did that on a regularly occurring basis.
I’ve made a consistent effort over these several months to release murky energies that no longer serve my purpose. I was reminded to care for myself – well, I did eat lunch today. Further, I understood the dark excuse of busy to deprive myself, because to be in a state of busy is business. I listened to music that spoke of light and sunshine. I had a very shiny summer. I assimilated enough light, physically and metaphysically, to carry me through these forthcoming dusky months. It’s coming time for rest and integration.
I will confess that I humourously indulge in winter denial with observations. The wasps are still hanging around in gangs so summer can’t be over, despite my experience that these uninvited vacationers always stay beyond their welcome.
I can see spring’s growing light at the end of winter’s respite. I have full and happy lungs that can carry my laughter down the dark, snowy alleys. Where there isn’t light, I will carry and share my own. I have the strength now amidst the changing colours that fall to ride another spin around the sun.
Keri lives in Boyle Street, where she has seen the light on more than one occasion.