The tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the eternal Name. The unnameable is the eternally real. Naming is the origin of all particular things. Free from desire, you realize the mystery. Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations. Yet mystery and manifestations arise from the same source. This source is called darkness. Darkness within darkness. The gateway to all understanding.
— Lao-Tzu
I looked up at the overhead monitor for the tenth time in as many minutes. The little icon of the plane hadn’t budged. It would be a long seven hours.
We were flying west from Ireland. American Airlines graciously displayed the world map, our intended route, and the position of the plane.
I noticed that the display also marked the divide between night and day. As we flew west, I could watch the dark creep up behind us.
It tends to do that.
We mark the fall equinox this week, that day when the light and dark are fairly matched. Darkness will overtake us soon.
I’m not fond of the dark. Although some would argue that I am affected generally, I admit only to the seasonal variety. As the days grow short, I fight to keep my mood from darkening too. The morning runs become more challenging. It’s harder to jump into new projects after dinner.
I understand the need to hibernate.
But I forget sometimes the need to celebrate.
Autumn is a time to do that.
In the spring, we plant. In the summer, we cultivate. In the fall, we enjoy the harvest, the fruits of our labors.
This is the rhythm of things. In nature. And in our lives.
I have such a tendency to tick off goals. And then move on to the next one without ever stopping to appreciate the effort, savor the moment, reflect on the journey, enjoy the accomplishment, celebrate the success. Mount an expedition to Aconcagua: check. Summit Denali: check. Marathon training: check.
Ireland marked a wedding anniversary with the most wonderful partner I could ever imagine: check.
And the countless smaller joys: stimulating work, healthy and successful kids, a wonderful staff, spectacular friends, a beautiful home. Check, check, check and check!!
How is it that I can get so busy, so tunnel visioned, that I pass all these things by like Burma-Shave signs on the highway, like mile markers on the interstate?
Celebration is such a core component of our lives. I suspect that we have done it for as long as we have been aware of our humanity. And seen, albeit dimly, our connection to divinity. In cave dwellings. In great cathedrals. Around our tables. That need to celebrate is part of our DNA. And yet the demands of our daily lives cause us to forget. Or so deplete us that we cannot know our joy.
It is time for Autumn. It is time to harvest what we have sown and cared for. To stop. To appreciate. To be grateful. To celebrate with the bounty that belongs to each of us. I know it is for me.
My photography mentor Galen Rowell was fond of saying that there is an intensity at the edges of things: earth and sky, land and sea, night and day. At this autumnal edge, I want to be intensely grateful.
We landed in Boston. The shadow of darkness had overtaken us. But in the morning, the sun came up again. It always does.
“Benedicto: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you — beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.”
Edward Abbey
Yeah. I’m celebrating! Great point. Love the Abbey benediction.
As my focus turns to the impending darkness of fall, it is nice to be reminded to stop. To celebrate. That this is the rhythm of nature, the rhythm of our lives…