SENSING IN THE DARK

This Mercury Rx that has asked us to turn inwards, to swim in murkiness, to let uncertainty take the lead, to lose not in the sense of not winning, but losing in the sense of surrendering to ending cycles and embracing conditions of re-membering, redirection, and re-creation. This work is not just for Autumn and Winter. In fact, for me, this type of inner work often takes place during the Summer. Seasons aren't fixed and our internal landscapes do not just hold one archetype at a time. We can be Maiden, Mother, Wise Woman of varying degrees, of varying expressions, at varying times. Yes, we can enter internal rites of passages and initiations, but embodying archetypes need not be linear. They almost always demand incubation periods that involve some form of loss and surrender.

Many, many of my clients and friends seem to be describing they are fumbling in the dark these past few weeks (even months). A time of questioning identity, meaning, and purpose. I feel that way, too. A LOT. Humbling, disorienting, pulling and stretching. But I need this type of condition to begin envisioning fire and illumination. Darkness can be a form of playing, invoking, conjuring. And because I am there (here!) often, I am so happy to cheer you on. Remember this: For plants, when they are confronted with environmental demands (over rain, drought, pests), their physiology responds with compounds that overtime strengthens them and lends additional nutrients to those who are fortunate to consume them. This is why Rosemary and Lavender thrive in high altitude, thin, nutrient-sparse soil rather than rich, sea level loam. Spirit always provides timely messages. On a day when I felt drained from the constant sensing in the dark, this poem appeared to me, like a beacon:

ONE ART by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

With love and in service,

Mimi Young founder and Spirit Communicator

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