Autumn nostalgia has set in. I noticed it a few days ago while hanging the laundry to dry outside. The residual heath, the cold breeze, the apples almost ripe to pluck, all transported me back to the second summer experiences I had in the Himalayas when I was younger. Always surprising me, as there wasn’t a gradual weather change… all of a sudden it had arrived. Where everything is fresh after the monsoon, dry, beautiful…people are more relaxed …another monsoon survived. Some flicker of hope and parties with good food and good moods. Relieved parents for school going children and hankering back to the pre summer abhorred and previously much shooed boring routine…The sweet contradiction of it makes me laugh, makes us fickle human beings…. makes me fickle…
Here in Europe I guess we are happy there are some hot days left after the damp heath of august and the dry heath of July. This year, particular, it was hot, hot hot all around and hard to escape. Much was left undone…. Like my mind was on hold, now I feel it spring into action and filled with new energy…. Like my spines constriction was lifted and upward the energy surges like a fountain.
So the time calls for things to be done and finalised but my one downfall luring from behind the door of good deeds is nostalgia….A foolish feeling more so than primal fear, raging jealousy, blinding anger. Nostalgia is such a gentle distraction but its outcome can be violent. It pulls me down into untried adventures, a live not lived, regrets of unfinished ends…creative and yet stifling in mind if I let it….
I unfold in many and if left unattended don’t regroup.. A bounty to be had if only I knew when ripe to be plucked, like the apples from my tree which I have no problem identifying.
Ponderings by the Unusual Yogini a true autumn believer
Ps: do the seasons effect you? or the stars, or the weather …any natural outside conditions? and what do they do with/to you?
Pss: whilst writing this post a blogpost of friends of mine arrived… Their blog is about my beloved very recently deceased friend Pete, Sangye Chöpel, and I urge you read it…. It’s magical.. And for me… I hear his voice whilst reading it, his pauses, his laughter his ponderings, him being, being in transition to a new form with same transcendent mind… No sadness recounting his life or his death
Psss: Poem I wrote when I lived in dharamsala during my first year os after having stayed in India for about three quarter of a year
Autumn leaves are falling and the sunlight on my head,
wondering in it’s beauty as I slightly become sad.
Winter on it’s way with promising cold nights,
newly fallen snow while my tears become lights