||[Sep. 23rd, 2013|06:23 am]
About the only ritual i have at the turnings of the year, these days, is changing the linens in the dining area (which we rarely use for dining) and changing the decoration on the side table. And yesterday i did that, thoughtfully.
I've been meditating on harvest, and giving thanks at how the threads of "knowledge" that have offered themselves over the years, including last Wednesday, are slowly twining together.
Years ago, i had "knowledge" that the best work for me would be two weeks of consulting, a week of creative work, and a week of volunteering. I put this "knowledge" in scare quotes because it has arrived inexplicably and hardly seems connected to anything i would explain knowing. This first piece of knowledge has sat, observed and unused, with a constant response of "What sort of consulting?"
In the early spring of 2012 i felt a nudge as i drove north on 280 up greening hills, "I want to see California's wildflowers." It was a desire stronger than "I want to learn to play the harmonica," or "I want to learn to bird by ear," both of which are other interests that evolved and have a sort of obvious trajectory, yet no moment of certainty. The California wildflowers wish was full blown and clear, out of no growing thread. I had spent some time from one vacation identifying flowers and i had a small set in Flickr, but it wasn't any different from wanting to identify and photograph birds and the great landscape around me.
On Wednesday, the certainty came that when i am settled in my consulting i should engage interns. The eight-ball in my heart is still responding to "What sort of consulting?" with "Reply hazy try again," but this past spring's web app planning and the recent workshop in conservation photography give me some ideas. And "when"! "When" says my heart, which i can only accept with a certain teary apprehension. "Not 'if'," says my heart, "but 'when'."
I am thankful for these understandings, these ideas, notions, leadings, visions. None of these words capture the experience very well, but it is the harvest of trust, of practicing this openness. It's fragile but strengthening.