slipping into November
Frosty mornings greet me like an old friend; white from crystalized water lay across grass and fallen autumn leaves, a beautiful sight to behold. I love the winter months. From the start of autumn to the edges of February, there is something fantastical, something wonderful about the months where most all of nature slumbers. I often wish we humans took note of that. Modeled after what creation does (slow down, rest, rejuvenate). But in a world that values unhealthy levels of productivity and the need to make money to simply survive under the scrutinizing gaze of billionaires and petty politicians who surely have forgotten what it is like to be an average citizen, the majority of us obviously cannot slow down and rest. However, I always believe those of us who have to scrape and work hard to pay the bills, can find ways to slow down and rest. Baby steps, ya'll.
Regardless if I worked a twelve-hour shift for one job or worked 9-5pm Monday through Friday for another or worked part-time hours (I have experienced all types of job hours, minus the horrifying 24 hr shift), my morning ritual is a sacred act. Brew a cup of coffee or tea, spend thirty-minutes or however much time I have, eating breakfast while writing or doing something I like. That is slowing down, that is resting. Of course, life gets in the way, but most of the time, I try my damn hardest to keep some sort of ritual that helps me breathe. Sadly, lately, I have just been existing, a trap I often find myself in when motivation lacks and my routine becomes too mundane. I forget to remain conscious of life and forget that sometimes, I can become like a robot: moving without much thought behind it. As life goes, I am determined to fix that.
As I write this, I am wearing a beautifully knitted sweater the color of burgundy wine, gifted to me from one of my siblings for my birthday last year. It is one of my favorite sweaters. The weather is super cloudy; yellow and red leaves still cling to the branches of trees in the yard. I've had two cups of coffee and my toes are cold. I've spent the past few hours writing, when for the past few weeks, I've hardly touched any of my writing projects. I'm currently reading Crier's War by Nina Varela for a second time and I forgot how much I adore the sapphic tale of human-made robots and humans existing in one world together.
As someone who has a complicated relationship with her faith, I often see the upcoming holiday season (Christmas!!) as a time to reconnect with what has been muddled and lost in the much louder voices that drown out the song of my heart: the love and joy and peace that was preached in scripture; the darkness being overcome with a Light that would be known as a Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.1 The foretold coming of a Man who uplifted women, who healed the sick, loved on the least of these, and tore down the religious leaders. The holiday season reminds me of that verse in psalm 126:1, we were like those who dream. Like people dreaming and waiting for a holy Savior to come rescue them, may we be people who dream, who fight and crawl our way towards what brings us hope and joy, whatever that may look like to you.
I hope November treats you well. Seek peace and pursue it, my friends.
1. (English Standard Bible, 2001, Isaiah 9).