No
matter where you live - even if it's someplace
without four distinct seasons, like Florida
or California - there is a sense that the
seasons are changing. Whether it's the
quality of light in the late afternoon,
the later sunrise and earlier sunset, or
the breath of coolness in the air, subtly
different from a few weeks before, Mother
Earth is letting us gently know that the
wheel of the year is turning again.
Many of us feel a quickening
now, a sense of wanting to move forward
and get new things started. Partially it's
our conditioning from childhood: fall meant
school days starting and a new year of
learning and adventure. Now, however, there
is no "marking of passage" at
work or perhaps even at home. How do you
commemorate that the year is coming to
a close - that you have gained and lost,
given and received, during this year? How
do you acknowledge your year's journey?
What can you do to bring forth in your
consciousness that "new road waiting?"
Experiment with a season's
meditation. Whether it is winter, spring,
summer - or autumn - use the sights, smells,
and senses of the season to go deep within
yourself, and look at what has passed for
you. Create a scenario, a central place
inside your mind and heart, and meet there
with Spirit to learn what It can share
with you.
To start you on this path,
we offer the following Harvest Meditation,
which I wrote many years ago, but which
still quickens within me magical growth
and self-understanding every year.
Settle into a quiet place,
where you will not be disturbed. Use incense
(cinnamon? apple? spicy scents of crisp
fall nights?), candles, music - whatever
will create within you the easy flow outward
to meet your Guides. If you want, you might
record the meditation and then play it
back (remembering as you record to give
yourself appropriate pauses!) so that you
are not distracted with reading.
Relax. Breathe deeply. Locate your
Center.
Find yourself walking on a country
road, a sack slung over your shoulder.
The late afternoon sun is burnished
gold, casting long shadows. Wooden
fence posts enclose a great expanse
where corn is grown, and wheat. There
are trees there, too, heavy with ripe
apples that surround you with their
heady scent. Taste the difference in
the air, so different from the slow
breath of summer.
The wind is still warm, yet a thin
thread of winter weaves its way into
the tapestry. A momentary tang of coolness
dances the leaves, rattles the dry
husks in the cornfield. The sky is
an impossible blue, as Mother Nature
gathers together her Autumn paints.
There is an opening in the fence.
A gate swings wide for you, and a pathway
beckons between the empty sentinels
of the harvest. You make your way slowly,
feeling the leaves touch you, whispering
with their sere voices of colder, darker
days to come. The sound envelops you,
fills your ears. A lone raven adds
counterpoint with a faint, harsh cry.
The pathway widens, suddenly; you
find yourself in a small clearing,
unexpected in the midst of the field.
Stones form a ring around a rough-hewn
altar, piled high with fruit and grain,
fish and game. There are craft-workings,
too: fine blankets of good wool, delicate
embroidery, sturdy pottery with bright
designs. Small wooden toys. A book,
freshly bound. A scroll of poetry.
A hand-carved harp.
The largesse, heaped so high, has
spilled from the altar and tumbled
to the ground. Your sack slides from
your shoulder as you move to gather
it up again, when a voice asks, "What
have you brought to add to the Giving?"
You turn. It is the Harvest Mother.
Her arms are filled with sheaves of
wheat; Her hair is the color of the
corn. Her bare feet tread lightly on
the dusty ground, and Her eyes hold
yours with quiet intent as She approaches.
"These are the gifts of those
who know Me for the Lady of Bounty.
All who have toiled these many months,
I have helped, for when I take My leave
of you until the Spring I would have
you well cared for. I have given My
warmest sun, My gentlest rain, My richest
soil. And in return, My people share
the results of their work, and their
love."
"What have you to bring to
the Altar of Thanks? How have you used
My Gifts this year?"
You bow low, and turn to open the
sack that you have brought. Shape now
your Gift to Her: look at what you
have harvested this year, and bring
to Her the choicest of your year's
creations.
You
lay your offering with the others,
and turn to look at Her questioningly,
wondering, perhaps if it is good
enough. She laughs kindly, and nods
Her head. "Any Gift, if given
with Love and from your whole heart,
is a bounteous harvest for Me. I
ask no more than this: that you recognize
from Whence the bounty comes, and
that you share your good fortune
- for in sharing the bounty do you
also honor Me, and care for My children
as I do."
A great explosion of feathers startles
you, as a pheasant rises close by,
the bronze and emerald plumage catching
the last rays of the sun. When you
turn to thank the Lady, she is gone;
but she has left a Gift for you. Examine
this Gift, gather it to you, and place
it in your sack.
Bowing a final time to the altar,
you turn and make your way back through
the empty stalks, finding the gate
and the road as the evening star blinks
on the horizon. You set foot on the
road, and choose your new direction.
