Here.
In the beauty of right now, we stand at the precipice of winter. At the edge of the slow wind toward darkness.
Toward rest.
We are here.
In these last few weeks of sacred growth, where the grass still pushes green beneath our feet and leaves still bend to the breeze heralding their gentle descent.
Here.
We are called to turn inward.
To invite the unwinding of what has been as we move toward the threshold of what comes.
The heaviness of now digs into muscle, burrows to the bone and anchors us minute by minute to the weight of right now. Here is the quiet before our rewilding. What feels like exhaustion is the universe inviting us to inaction.
In. Action.
Before we begin again.
So feel the weight of being and take a breath. Let it nourish the body. Feel the wisdom in being as we wind gently down, toward meeting the ending with the respect that allows it to end fully.
Do nothing.
Let the winding down be its own ritual. The gathering of threads. The weaving of what was into the new road quietly forming what will be. This road may lead us to the threshold.
But there’s time yet.
Time to linger in the half-light, to feel what is loosening, to let the body learn the language of release.
Welcome to the longest exhale of the year, friends. Maybe even the longest of the last nine years. Where the light thins and the air hushes, where what once blazed now glows softly from within.
Here, in the heaviness of now, we are embers remembering their fire, the wind singing through falling leaves, the breeze cradling our own sacred descent.
May we be the breath of sacred exhale.
May we embrace the quiet twilight as it comes.
And may we offer no apologies
for our darkness.
