The beginning of the end time of our year brings me back to acknowledging life's constant transitions, of the prominence of impermanence, that old, boring refrain. Sometimes, like the child who hides behind the thin tree trunk with his eyes jammed closed and hopes no one can see him, I imagine that if I don't look at change, it won't be there.
Ah yes. But when I am connected to myself and my deeper world, I know that this is not true - and it's a good thing, too. I notice that what I look at, what consistently comes into view for me and moves me, is the beauty of the transitions, the beauty - perhaps even the majesty - of decay. As I walk in my urban wilderness, it enters my awareness gently, quietly, unassuming, and it stays with me, even as I glance at my aging reflection in the water or the mirror. Without fanfare it reminds me of the opportunity to see this inevitable process as the blessing it truly is.
As we walk through this season of endings, of closing up, and, yes, dying, I remember that the beauty of this time resides in itself, in the truth it holds, not just its implicit promise of spring. So walk, remember, celebrate, cry if you need to, and, I pray, continue to walk more fully into your life.