A time to reap

Suddenly, the sun emanating a soft light over the distant mountains
was gone and I could feel just the air tickling my skin. I continued
ascending the earth, carefully and quickly choosing each step on each
rock. I could hear my breath and my heart, feel the air moving deep
into my diaphragm and the strength of my muscles moving up, resisting
gravity. Yet, for the first time in weeks, I was not dripping in
sweat, overheated. As we descended into the darkness, I was actually
cold.

Even back in the city, the smell of fall wafts into my apartment,
where it is now cool enough to open the windows again. I sit in the
silence of the hum of the freeway, the wind fluttering my ivory
curtains, and the tinkling of the camel bells on the sculpted om
hanging between the bamboo blinds.

It is autumn and all seems full of hope, peace, bliss. Change is
imminent, but a change that is slow and beautiful and complete.

Earlier today, I took a kundalini yoga class today, very different
than my usual yoga practice. The sole purpose is to work to your
level to open up blocked energy channels. "It is autumn, the season
of receiving," the teacher begins the class. We work hard, sow our
seeds, our dreams, our hopes, our expectations. Now, the days grow
shorter, the air cools, and we can sit and enjoy all our hard work. I
feel particularly blessed that my non-traditional school schedule
gives me vacation just now.

Now, the wind has calmed. I do not feel alone, but blessed, inspiring
the impulse to bake pies and serve spiked hot cider to my friends.

But not tonight. Right now, the smell of fresh baked pizza fills my
home, a bottle of red wine calls my name, and a movie patiently waits
for my attention. Later, perhaps, there will be company, calls, and
time to share. Now, I allow myself to receive.