Autumn as a Classroom

Autumn as a classroom.

Autumn, the time of year when leaves fall to the earth away from the trees that have been their home.

What are you ready to intentionally and consciously let fall away?

What do you no longer wish to carry?

What have you realized is too heavy, and are now ready to lay down?

As the leaves fall to the earth they decompose and become nutrients and nourishment for seeds to be planted in the future.

What can you release now to become food for the future?

Here are some prompts to consider, perhaps journal about, or share in your sacred circles:

What habitats, patterns, beliefs that no longer serve me am I ready to release?

Who do I need to forgive?

What do I need to forgive myself for?

What do I need to grieve?

What do I no longer want to spend my time and energy on?

What feels burdensome to me?

What fight do I want to stop fighting?

What am I carrying that doesn’t belong to me?

What season of my life am I in?

Am I falling or flying?

Am I living or dying?

What have I outgrown?

What has worked for a long time that isn’t working anymore?

What is it time to let go of?

What is time to be done with in its current form?

It’s time for me to let go of perfection around the following ________, _________ and _______.

What do I need to put a time limit on?

What decisions did I make this year that in retrospect I wish I had not made?

What am I holding against myself?

What grudges am I holding that I can let go of?

What tears do I need to shed?

Song for Autumn

Don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

inside their bodies? And don’t you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.

~ Mary Oliver

With much Love from my heart to yours.