Endings as Beginnings

On Grief + Autumn Arousings

I’ve been lingering in the long summer corridor, slipping into the Autumn Equinox like a cozy sweater waiting patiently to be worn. The natural landscape of this season lends itself to the reminder that time is cyclical, death a necessary part of the endless loop of beginning again. The holiest hues of green and sickly shades of rotting amber, holding hands. The goldenrod has been a harbinger of the memory of death for me for the past several years, and I’ve softened to greet them with fondness + gratitude. This past week I sat in the wet grasses of the September prairie, the scent of sweetgrass clinging to the morning dew, starburst sparkles of asters hanging overhead, and let them hold my tears as I greeted grief once more. Grief is so humbling, the way it brings us to our knees and leaves us without breath- if only to remind us of our tender aliveness. It clings to every bit of us, muddying memories of pleasure and pain. I’m learning that grief isn’t something that we overcome, rather grief is the thing that overcomes us, again and again. Each time feels more visceral, each season feels more visceral, a letting go giving way to softer beginnings.

My heart plays a bittersweet reel of my evolutions of self that have led me to this place in time and I have been finding myself in quiet, soft moments of forgiveness and love for those parts that couldn’t give the grace I’d needed all those years ago. Maybe grief isn’t a catalyst for endings, maybe grief is the alchemy of beginnings. Maybe this is how we tie up loose heart strings. Being in relationship with grief has felt profound. Rather than feel a separation between grief and joy, I’m learning their rythm, their synergy. I’m learning that I can feel both sorrow and sensuality. Autumn does this, too.

Autumn surrenders bits of its living parts and yields things both unalive and deeply sensual, like the grasses and sedges. The withering vines of the wild grapes that hang heavy with rich and elegant purple fruits. The golden twilight carresing the fingertips of nearly bare trees, the milkweed pods bursting with contentment. Autumn is a final breath, a cyclical exhale of gratitude giving way to the deep rest of winter. Autumn is warming- spiced with cinnamon + star anise, comforts like warm bread baked with fennel and fresh figs. We mourn the fallen leaves at our feet and marvel as they turn into rich Earth between our fingertips. Endings beget beginnings. This season feels like it may unravel me in a way that leaves me aching from feeling, from shedding, decaying. An ending that is a beginnning. Equinox blessings, folks.

In connection, Holly