One hundred, thirty-eight pieces of new writing later, and a new concert with Sarah Cunningham offered at the winter solstice, and I am back, here on the threshold of a new year, thinking about what's next.
Rip Van Winkle is on my mind today.
He went for a walk, passed into a faerie realm, returned a little while later and learned that twenty years had passed while he slept. The old life he knew was gone and the seeds of the future had grown up and become a new home to him.
As I came back into this space to write one more 2020 post, I found something I'd begun to write on October 1.
As I write, the moon has shifted to full. A Harvest Moon. The cycle is at its high point, its climax, a blossoming. The energy is high as I sit at my kitchen table in near silence and visit this writing. I reach way inside, deep, deep down to touch what wants to be expressed. There's an energy of revealing, of seeing and being seen, of reflecting a brighter light.
There was a full moon a few days ago, the last of the year, and it was stunning in the night sky last night. Still, I'm feeling a bit like Rip as I read this. I had not remembered that I'd begun that writing. An echo of memory that feels true to me today. But its day has passed, and a few cycles have passed since it lit our night sky. Saturn and Jupiter had a wide arc then and have now met and passed each other again. An entire season has come and gone. The leaves on the trees have changed color, fallen, and mulched into the ground under a first snowfall.
This year's writing series Days of Accidental Beauty: 40 Days of Noticing, a daily writing practice directed toward discovery, has unfolded a little bit differently than I expected it would. Still, when we invite things into our lives and follow the trail of bread crumbs through the woods, we usually find what we're looking for.
Days of Accidental Beauty: 40 Days of Noticing is a daily writing practice that invites discovery.
