It’s been a fallow year or two here in blog land. Torn by too many possibilities, overwhelmed by ideas of what a blog should look like in the 2020’s, rushed by general life and being “just too busy” to even remember the joy I got from blogging. I found myself swept up in social media addiction, way too much busywork, spending too much time in my head and nowhere near enough time on the things that I know bring me peace. It’s like that sometimes, though. We need to jump into the foaming waters of a fast running river to be carried to the wide calm of the delta.

I think I’m reaching that wider, calmer destination. This Lughnasadh, this time of harvest – I was wondering what could possibly have grown this year. I’ve stepped away from my nature spirituality, lost the regular, deep rhythm of the waxing and waning days. I’ve been running on adrenaline, leaving little bits of myself here and there, forgetting, maybe intentionally, who I am. Maybe I needed that.

But even after all this flitting about, spreading thinly, ignoring hobbies and joys and losing myself in work and apps – there is a little harvest here. The high energy of solstice is mellowing, and I along with it. I sowed chaos, and I am reaping calm.

I’ve tried to look back on the last few years, whilst I was still bubbling in that quick flowing water without realising. I was experiencing but not processing, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time. A good few life events have occurred, and I breezed through them all, pushing at the edge of the envelope as always, taking on more and more. I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine. The distraction that comes with the thrill of pushing yourself. No space to think of anything else. No time to let it settle.

My harvest is the out breath. My harvest is running out of steam. My harvest is a pull to the ever turning wheel, to the fading of the vibrant green leaves, to the stories and roots and stones of old. My harvest is letting go of expectation and writing my heart out. My harvest is letting tears of grief fall. My harvest is noticing the breeze.

I’ve noticed a change, a creeping in of compassion, an invisible embrace holding myself more gently than before. The things we talked about in years of therapy and I never could quite imagine. Something has broken down and the result is a gentleness, a tentative joy, an acceptance. Not doing things because I should but doing things because I am. I am those things. I am tree, and mud, and spirit and cells. I am night and dark. I am human in this ever connected web.

I needed to lose myself to come back.