Dear Friends ~ October, at the heart of chilly autumn, is an intricate, nuanced, bittersweet time. The glory of shimmering trees, outrageous sunsets, invigorating winds, the scent of apples and rich mulch, the gratitude and joy of the harvest feast twines with oncoming darkness, falling leaves, the sense of letting go and passing on, the ephemeral nature of everything. Particularly now when so much in our world is changing, when the discipline of loss and grieving is a daily call, it is imperative to return again and again to the inner flame that burns on the hearth of belonging, to be warmed by something eternal and unchanging, the Creative Fire, the Original Presence. Poet Marie Howe, in "Annunciation", might have been describing such an experience when she wrote, "[I] swam in what shone at me/only able to endure it by being no one and so/specifically myself I thought I'd die/from being loved like that."
We are on an edge between worlds, yet it is an inner landscape wildly contoured with deep wells, high peaks, mysterious caves, open fields, if we have the capacity to see it. We may feel the edge acutely, but we are filled by beauty and wonder, by everything always becoming. Knowing this in our bones is how we keep our balance, stay upright, and thrive.
This brings me to a word about our appeal letter and donation link. For more than three decades, the Friends of Silence Letter has been like a hand held out in edge times, offering something or someone to hold to: words of wisdom, a call to the Silence where we can open to Presence and the Source of Life, where we find ground. Please consider what this means to you and all that you love and take a moment to read the appeal.
We may be in a whirlwind of change, on an uncertain edge, but what amazement waits near. Indeed, "The world is big and wide and wonderful and wicked, and our lives are murky, magnificent, malleable, and full of meaning. Oremus. Let us pray." (Padraig O'Tuama)
And so may you thrive. ~ Lindsay
Before the restoration, it was the colors I watched, blue, red, yellow, green, pink; the architecture, the meadow, the hedges, the water. Now, what I see is light. White light. Color has been absorbed into form; Form is in the service of surprise. It is the light, the throbbing illumination, glowing on the horizon, rippling in the waters, blowing through the grasses, that touches my lips. Something has been set in motion.