November 2024
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times.
But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what
to do with the time that is given us.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
Good morning from my blue chair,
Continuing to work with holding steady along with taking swift action, I’m writing to share my annual November reflective writing practice with you . . .
This November practice invites you to reflect back carefully over the year through the lens of Beauty, Truth and Goodness. On this fresh morning the world does seem to be in a ruckus — and when I dropped into this writing practice myself, I found the ruckus as well as some solace. These are hard times to keep our hearts strong and open. It appears that collectively we are not doing so well with sharing power. There are winners and losers everywhere. So finding the beauty, truth and goodness has become all the more compelling as we seek to steady ourselves and find a way to contribute somehow.
For those of you who have dropped into this practice in years past, you will see that I’ve kept it the same, confident that these questions will always bring a fresh response as we look back over the past year to find the Beauty, Truth and Goodness that is there.
Carve out some time to reflect on the last year in your journal. (Pulling out your calendar to jog your memory might be helpful.) With pen in hand or fingers on your keyboard, soften your gaze as you scan back over the past year and respond to the prompts below. You can do this for the year in one sweep or take each season as I suggest below. The invitation here is to be responding to these prompts four times, beginning with the winter a year ago. (Could take you as long as an hour or so to complete . . . ) Significant milestones or intimate moments in your answers are all appropriate. I think you will find that specificity gives wonderful depth to the process.
For each of the seasons, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall:
Describe a time that you experienced beauty.
In what way(s) were you the cause of something beautiful?
In what way(s) was a hard truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a hard truth?
In what way(s) was a beautiful truth revealed to you?
In what way(s) did you reveal or speak a beautiful truth?
In what way(s) were you on the receiving end of goodness?
In what way(s) were you the cause of goodness?
Upon completion, give yourself a little time to let your responses settle in you. Take a walk or a bath, if you can, and take in the beauty, truth and goodness that you found when you put pen to page. Stay with the hard truth that may have surfaced and seek support from wise loved ones if you feel the need. You might want to capture some further reflections before moving into the fullness of your day or evening.
I’ll be posting my annual year end practice in December, which will give you an opportunity to look ahead and consider any reorientation, renewed commitments, or actions that all of this may inspire in you.
May we all find our way to contribute. May we all wage peace . . .
Warmly, Lyedie
One final note: Yesterday morning in our writing group a friend read this poem and it landed for me, so I thought I’d share it with you.
How the Light Comes
I cannot tell you
how the light comes.
What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.
That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.
That it loves
searching out
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.
That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
toward flesh
for tracing the edges
of form
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.
I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.
And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still
to the blessed light
that comes.
by Jan Richardson