The Darkness Equinox

A quieter world with every frost.

It’s almost hard for me to even remember the raging, explosive unfolding of spring. Though in a sense it feels far away, overall the speed of every season seems to increase slightly as I get older. It comes across as being both a distant memory, a different me, and as if I blinked once and it all disappeared in an instant. Either way I find myself pointed towards another winter season in Vermont. There’s plenty of autumnal splendor between now and then and I do my best to notice every subtle change and embrace the crisp air, crisp apples, and the crunchy plant remains left like stark carbon skeletons in the fields and gardens at the hands of deepening frosts. The leaves are beginning to change and although we’ve been enduring a terrible drought, the cool morning mists have kept us all going so far.

As the summer gardens of vegetables and beautiful blooms fade into the darkness, the cannabis buds are just beginning to gain in complexity. Every strain on the farm has finally entered a more serious phase of flowering and all of the different bud structures and aromas are a delight to the senses and a true motivator for getting out of bed, getting some warm clothes on, and embarking on my daily morning walk. We’ve entered the season where the plants and I slightly merge as much of my time is spent tending to them, examining them, and doing whatever I can to support their magical potential. A hard frost settled into the valley last night and the frost covered the plants in a crystalline shell of sparkling wonder. As the sun rose over the trees the plants had tear drops hanging down from the very tip of every leaf. I could have cried.

The fall equinox occurring now is one that brings with it varying reactions. My body feels ready for the darkness and the rest that inevitably finds one who is trapped in a tiny house shrouded in endless snowfall. On the other hand, my mind knows that with the darkness comes introspection, reflection, and the slow unraveling of repressed thoughts and feelings that were stowed away in an attempt to stay the course of a busy growing season. As I get older, I do tend to be more interested in the life review of it all. I used to shy away from the deeper dwelling parts of me in favor of outward expressions and experiences. Like a young sunflower seedling, I’d spend my entire days chasing the sunshine. Now that I’m in full bloom, I’m a bit more relaxed, more ok with what is, and I’m ready to settle in, face east, and have faith that the sunrise will forever greet me in the morning.

As the darkness slowly envelops my reality, I am back to exploring the expansiveness of our internal realms and consciousness. For whatever reason, be it the breathtaking world I am so blessed to interact with everyday or the overwhelmingly beautiful people I have the privilege of building with and learning from, this summer has gifted me with this true feeling of omnipresent wellness. I don’t know exactly how to describe it but it is something like, in the face of all of the absolute horrors of our modern world, there grows a beautiful garden. The garden is sprouting from the sincerity, the care, and the collaboration of so many tender souls and while all feels inescapably fragile today, I have this deep sense that we can still choose the path that will heal this world.

This thought has had a very calming effect on me, even as the endless challenges mount and the atrocities continue. Through this new impression I feel like I’ve had my first true encounter with my intuition. I used to think that intuition was about inner knowing. I had trouble with that concept for so long because I thought it meant that I was supposed to somehow have this highly knowledgable inner voice guiding me, like my conscious mind finally awakened a smarter version of myself that would provide me with valuable feedback about my choices. Come to find out that my conscious mind is the wheel that perpetually spins and actually has very little to offer me in the form of guidance.

It seems to me that intuition isn’t about the mind at all, but about your feelings. It’s about your awareness and your ability to take note of the world around you. It’s about listening and paying attention to the subtle ways your reality encourages and carries you forward. It’s the recognition that you exist as a part of the all and the all is actually a part of you. There are moments when your head is spiraling for answers and something that seems to exist completely separate from you offers you the key.

Even as this new part of me unfurls, I am still so hopelessly human, so anxious, filled with grief, and so easily lost. It takes a lifetime to learn how to hold all of your desires lovingly in your heart instead of desperately in your head.

Soon the sheep will be in the barn, the cannabis will be hanging to dry, and I’ll be doing finger exercises in preparation for this winter’s trimming marathon. For now it’s all deep breaths before the harvest whirl, long walks in golden morning light, and the distant jingling of dog collars through dense fog. As the fear rises in us all, I hope we can take a moment to feel deep gratitude for each other and for this loving, living world that holds us, even as we rage upon her. My life may be hard at times trying to eek by as a land steward within a capitalist fever dream, but it will always be fulfilling and dripping with purpose when lived in service to Earth’s essential flourishing.