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The Dis/Comfort of Shifting Rhythms

Taking a deeeeep breath this week.

The last couple weeks were an exclamation of SERENITY NOW!! à la Seinfeld - crowned by the craziest Full Moon I've experienced since I worked at the Human Rights Tribunal. (Full moon weirdness is a thing people, for serious.) But by yesterday, breath returned to my body.

The sick kid went back to school, the convalescencing dog is back outside, barking at cyclists like her old, happy self, I fired the crazy folks brought out by the full moon, Jeff and my kid are back from hunting, and we had a brand new, absolutely perfect baby girl calf born without incident an hour before Jeff got home.


Transitions are tough. Whether that's transitions from holidays to school, one chapter to another, one season to the next.

And yet, in nature, transitions are where the good stuff happens. Where the river meets the sea, where the tide meets shore, where the dark mystery of the forest floor crashes into a deluge of sunlight in a clearing. These are the places that swell with a richness of life, that overflow with plenty.

The trick to making the most of them is to embrace the dis/comfort in the rhythm of the new, sometimes unsettling, time and place.

The sunlight in the clearing blinds our forest dark eyes, the salt of the ocean confounds our tongue. Shifting from the dependably chronological flow of the river to the churning tides can send us topsy-turvy, and might even feel like chaos.

But given time, and breath, chaos always reveals itself as truth; rhythm, the elegant order of a deliciously ineffable dance.

As always.


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