I pause to watch the Autumn leaves drop from tree to ground.
As I ponder the falling leaves, a horsefly lands on my journal on the entry from yesterday. The fly lands on the word between.
Yes, my little fly friend, we are indeed about to enter the time of between; the place of not being one thing or another.
We are entering the pupal stage of the year of the year. When, here in the Northern Hemisphere, the days grown shorter, nights longer. The cold comes and we shelter.
Unlike the fly we can't make a haven out of our own skin, so we wrap ourselves up in other things - we cocoon.
We cocoon in our homes in sweaters, slippers, woolly socks, and drawn curtains against the draft.
We cocoon outside in hats, scarves, layers of long underwear, and snow crunching boots.
We cocoon inside ourselves, wrapped up in our minds and thoughts.
Yes, little fly friend, we are also entering a time between in our culture.
And our cultural cocoon is a painful one. Inside our culture is dissolving, breaking down.
Unlike the turn of the seasons, or the birth of a fly, the outcome of this is not easy to predict and its timing is not certain.
Unlike the seasons, the old way of being does not give way easily to the next.
Unlike the seasons, this change will happen only with our own efforts.
I want to ask the fly, "Did you know, as a tiny maggot, when your skin formed your pupal case...did you know you would emerge as a fly? Were you afraid when it was happening? Did it hurt?"
What kind of world will we emerge into in the spring?
What kind of world will be build over the coming years?