Sheddin' time

Shedding.
Trees do it, cats do it (all over the couch), and certainly snakes do it. They let things die, they let things rub off, fall away, lay there in the dust as if it were nothing. With no elaborate ritual, without agony or distress, they keep moving with the tides, the pulse, the flow, almost oblivious to what is left behind. Unlike me of course. Unlike most of us.... for whom every separation, every ending, every let go is such a deep self-examination and struggle... well, at least for me... :-)

So this is the time. Time to let go. We put so much energy into creation, vision, so much attention on the flower, the fruit, the new leaves and branches emerging. But eventually those leaves get golden and dry, fragile and brittle, get pulled away by an evening breeze and hardly even noticed get crumbled to dust. This dying process that happens every autumn is what makes space for the next cycle. For the new shoots and flowers to come in the spring. This is my learning. Letting things go, and making space for the new. But in between there's a death. A gap. A silence of unknown time.

And there's no precise timing or knowing of what comes next. I suppose a cherry tree can pretty much assume it's gonna bear some bright red cherries in a few months, if all goes well. And a banana tree can hold out for a new banana crop pretty soon - all it takes is a bit of patience, sun, water (and some good samba music can't hurt) and those fruits will be back.

But how about me...? I'm still not sure what type of fruit I bear. In every let go there's a gasp, a wondering if anything will ever grow again. Is this the end, the final chapter, the ultimate failure...? Somewhere deep inside the hankering for spring begins even as the rustle of the old unnecessary and out-of-date swirl at my feet.

But this year, I hope to have learned something. This is my chance to savor the cycle of completion, to celebrate what was, and to enjoy the inner deepening that darkness brings. Rather than count the moments until the dawn, this winter I wish to relish in the snuggliness of hibernation. Let my inner juices cook undisturbed, unseen, un-evaluated by other's eyes. This time I will let the shedding happen and trust the new skin that is ready to emerge. I mean, who wants to be the same all the time anyways..? So if growth happens through death, If the new emerges only in the space vacated by the old, then I welcome it all, and gratefully say goodbye.