In this depth of summer, there are seeds of winter that I plant as often as possible in my heart, my vision, my hopes. I remind myself that all the things I love and have lost - cardigans, blankets, tea, warm cake, reading by candelight, cold mornings in the holy dark - will return, they will return, and in the meanwhile I have memory and dreams to keep me going.
I can open my window to night winds. I can go out at the edges of the day, before the worst of the heat descends. This morning, I had to bring in laundry which I'd accidentally left on the line overnight. It was five o'clock and stars were still staining the cold dark sky. A waning moon swayed over the ocean. I knew that, within half an hour, the sky would crack open, splotching green with dawn, but for just a little while the whole world seemed quiet and calm. It had a winter kind of soul to it. And for just that little while I was entranced.
I am learning, at long last, to cope with summer not by accepting it and trying to adapt to it, but by knowing it is a trial I must endure, and gathering about me as much as possible the beautiful things which will give me strength, courage, and hope. The cold moments, the cardigan days, the stories of winter and whatever winds come my way. I think too often we are encouraged to accept difficulties - be grateful, be adaptive, get out of our comfort zone - but I prefer to embrace my sorrow as a valuable part of my self, resist what I do not want, and appreciate that my "comfort zone" is infact the ground of my authenticity.