Pat Taub
At autumn we leave summer behind and anticipate cooler temperatures with joyful images of cozy sweaters, glorious foliage and sitting by the fireplace. But autumn can be much more than reenacting nostalgic traditions. It can be a time of renewal.
As the days grow darker I am called to deep reflection, reviewing the past year and then doing a course correction.
The leaves falling from the trees are a reminder to let go of what’s been holding me back. I initiate my reflections by asking, “What hasn’t been working for me and what do I need to do differently? Journaling about my new intentions can clarify and reinforce them.
This year I found myself craving a ritual to honor autumn.
For inspiration I researched ancient Chinese practices for celebrating autumn. Borrowing liberally from the Chinese tradition, I’ve designed a ritual I can do solo, or with a small circle of close friends. (Don’t hesitate to adapt my suggestions to reflect your personality and creativity.)
A scene from this years’s autumn festival in China
Since white is the color of autumn in China, I will make white the centerpiece of my ritual. My coffee table will hold white candles and a container of white flowers, along with my Ivory image of Quan Yin, the Chinese Goddess of Compassion.
I will open my ritual by reading aloud an inspiring passage, like this one by Joyce Rupp, A Catholic writer and poet:
I gratefully acknowledge how darkness has become less of an enemy for me and more of a place of silent nurturance, where the slow, steady gestation needed for my soul’s growth can occur.
In the Chinese tradition autumn is associated with sadness represented by the dying summer flowers and the fading light. Weeping is the sound of autumn in Chinese philosophy. Tears represent the season’s sadness. One is asked to weep for things one has lost. I will silently grieve or weep aloud, if the tears come. This year I will be mourning the loss of a dear friend.
Once the tears are shed for what we have released, we can allow our hearts to open to a new path. In the life cycle when something dies, something else is born. Accordingly we are called to birth new dreams during autumn. Maybe there’s a book or art project that needs dusting off, or a social concern that calls for our involvement.
Wallace Stevens offers inspiration for letting go when he writes, “Death is the mother of beauty.”
The Buddhist teacher Sharon Saltzberg encourages us to direct some of the energy from what we’ve let go of to giving to others, entering the state of generosity. Considering the world’s turmoil, there is no shortage of people and concerns one can give to.
Compassionate citizens at an ICE detention center protesting its inhumane conditions
The Chinese autumn practice asks us to summon the personal courage for a new direction. I might incorporate a personal totem, like wearing my mother’s bracelet as a reminder of my new path and her belief in me.
Chinese autumn rituals end in a celebration where tea and moon cakes are eaten. If I can’t track down moon cakes at my neighborhood Asian market, I will make do with pound cake.
If you’re performing an autumn circle with friends, ask one another for support and affirmation on your new path. If doing this ritual alone, at a later time, you might share your intentions with close friends. Having witnesses can strengthen one’s resolve. Witnesses can remind you of your new commitment and be there for you when you need emotional support to move forward.
For inspiration during my autumnal reflections, I return to the words of Mary Oliver:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
