In the still-dark morning, in a shared writing cyber space, we were invited to connect more deeply. Three hours later in a different group, a few miles further along the wide-open coastline, under a sky thinking about blowing away the clouds, I received the same invitations: to connect and to go deeper. These are already synchronous with my own intention for my year-to-come: rather than growing in the sense of expansion, my priority now is to honour what I already have and connect with it all more deeply.
The obvious question must be asked: what does it mean to go deeper?
Deeper into the world. Deeper into the work. Deeper into my own sense of self, and my place and value in the world.
To go deeper means not looking, not thinking, but feeling. The creatures that live underground feel their way, they scent and snuffle and delve with sensitive claws and paws. To go deeper is to feel the vibrations of the earth, rather than listening for language. It means to know the difference between a passing footstep, and a threat, and an approaching friend, purely from how the earth responds to the tread, or how the air responds to the presence.
Sometime earlier this year…or maybe it was last year, I am slowly disconnecting from the time measured on clocks and calendars…'a little while ago' let's say, I recognised that many of my initial struggles in designing this stage of my life arose because I was trying to build when I needed to excavate. I was working with a mindset and a toolkit that were no longer appropriate. So much started falling into place with that little insight, and so much else started falling away.
The wonderful Rebecca Campbell teaches that what is rising can only rise if what is falling is allowed to fall away. That is so true, and yet we cling on to that which no longer serves us, no longer interests us, which has become simply burdensome. One of the first lessons of delving is how little of the surface world you can take with you. To dig deep is energetic work, it is easier if the no-longer-wanted / no-longer-needed weight can be left behind.
This is not a call to abandon families or friends or careers or passions or hobbies or possessions, but an invitation to look at all of those things. To delve deeply into them as well. To understand their true value in your life…and yours in theirs, for everything is reciprocal. Remember that reciprocity is a function of flow, not balance. Balance is stasis. Balance is a stagnant state. Flow is a dynamic one. Think harmony rather than balance. Think equilibrium of rhythm. In the present moment there may be imbalance, but temporary imbalance is what enables the flow to occur.
The see-saw goes up and it comes down. There is no fun to be had sitting on it unless it goes up and comes down and goes up and comes down. If you are on the low seat, simply push up and as you rise, be aware that you will fall. As you fall, be aware that you will rise. And both the rising and the falling can be enjoyed if we enter into the game. This is a lesson that we learn as children, and then grow up and forget.
So look at what you are carrying through your life. Look at where it sustains you. Look at where you willingly, lovingly and/or joyfully sustain others. Allow that flow to continue.
But be honest with yourself in terms of the stuff that you are carrying that serves no-one, or will only ever serve someone other than yourself – not just now, flow allows for you being the supporter for now – but only ever. Be honest about what has outlived its time, and let it go. Gently, as kindly as you can, set it down.
Free up your energy to dig.
Autumn is a burrowing time. A time for hunkering. A time for preparing the den for winter. It's a deep-digging time, a creating-comfort time…because the winter is coming, and that is a quiet time, a reflective time.
Gather now the ideas and thoughts and people to you who will help you delve during the dark months. Seek out the books that might nurture you (and be willing to put them aside if they don't). Seek out the recipes that you will want to cook when the cold arrives. Lay in the blankets and snuggle clothes. Find the films you want to watch on a small screen. Or the podcasts you never got around to listening too. Lay in your store of inspiration.
Delving is about excavating, digging out, but it is also about creating your winter den. Line it with your own equivalent of scavenged sheep's wool and feathers and dry leaves. Fill your larder with your equivalent of nuts and berries. Personal comforts. Protective nourishment. Trust your instincts and delve deep into what really makes you feel good on a dark, cold, wet, miserable evening.
And act upon it.
For me, it's candles and warmth and wine. Books. Music. Old-fashioned telly programmes. Black & white movies. Scented salt baths. And friendship. A card. A call. Shared food.
Sharing simple things with a loved one – be it a friend, a partner, a lover, a family member – is a way of going deeper. When we share an experience, and when we talk about how we found it, what we may take away from it, or not, we go deeper into the relationship with that friend / lover / child / elder.
When we do the same thing with strangers, we go deeper into ourselves.
I am fortunate in my love of the seasons. All of them. I love the changeling nature of the earth, the waters and the sky. I welcome the shortening of the days and lengthening of the evenings, the opportunity to withdraw into the half-light, where learning awaits. I welcome the blustery days that remind me we are not in charge of how the world works. To go more deeply into these loves, means to pay attention to what it is about this time of year that sustains me: what is it about the trees and the animal behaviour and the sea at this time of year? This is an invitation to look deeply, and to go beyond looking. It is an invitation to step into the myths and legends of these days, and to go beyond knowing the stories. It is an invitation to honour the rituals of this time of year, and go beyond other people's practices, to create my own, adapt, repurpose, honour, preserve, sustain, treasure.
Because we know from earliest understandings that the one thing that treasure has in common in all the stories all around the world is that it is buried. There are many maps that might lead us to where it is hidden, but when we get there, when we get here, then inevitably we have to dig.
