A Reflection
As the season becomes colder, and the sun sets sooner, the changing air and early end of day is like a calling to go inside — not just the home in which we live, but the home within ourselves.
I tend to be more contemplative in the gray. It comes over me like quiet clarity, a stillness through the fog, the clouds, the rain even. Breathing in seems easier when it’s crisp, with each breath touching a depth that feels good to let go of, like a sigh of cleansing release.
Through the philosophical lens of Traditional Chinese Medicine, Autumn is associated with the Lung, an organ with broader meaning beyond that of the Western paradigm. In the book, The Web That Has No Weaver: Understanding Chinese Medicine, author Ted J. Kaptchuk beautifully captures the nature of the Lungs and their interconnection to grief.
“Traditionally, the Lungs are called the “tender organ” because they are easily affected by fleeting events, whether it is respiration, an acute cold or flu, short-lived emotions, or acknowledging and accepting both the completeness and impermanence of a precious encounter or cherished life” (Kaptchuk, 2000, Chapter 3).
When I read this, it gives me the inspiration to recognize my own resilience, in both fragility and strength, and to be gentle with myself, especially during this season of life. I’m also reminded of the delicate relationship between the physical, emotional, and spiritual aspects of being.
As the wind blows, and the leaves fall, we can also witness the natural change happening within ourselves and our lives. Through this time, we may allow ourselves to let things be as they are, or to fall away as they will, to observe what has come and gone, to sit with what remains, or to leave behind what no longer belongs with us, what we no longer wish to carry.
References
Kaptchuk, T. J. (2000). The web that has no weaver: Understanding Chinese medicine (2nd ed.). McGraw-Hill. [Ebook]
