Harvesting and Natural Rhythms – The Chapters of Your Life Story

DSCF7320It will seem strange to admit that, with all my recent ruminations on the metaphorical harvesting of your soul, it was only in the late hours of last night that I discovered today was Lammas Day. Lammas Day has long been held as the first Harvest Festival and is associated with the harvest of wheat. My complete ignorance of this information, coupled with my absolute fixation with related topics over the last few days has confirmed what I already knew – your soul needs no schedule or calendar. If you only listen to the rhythms, your instincts already know all of this. I happened upon this confirmation quite by accident. I had decided that today was going to be a day for adventuring (ironically, this didn’t come to fruition as the skies decided to open) and, looking for somewhere to adventure to, I had read in the local press that a nearby castle was holding a traditional Lammas Day celebration. So complete was my ignorance that I had had to look it up and it was then that I was hit by the delicious synchronicity of what I had been experiencing of late

It has been ingrained in your soul since ancient times and it will naturally and necessarily divide your years, your life, into chapters of the Earth. We don’t just exist alongside nature, we are of nature and as such, unless we go to some considerable length to distance ourselves it, we are governed by all the same principles as nature itself.

This is not the only experience I have had of late of coming face to face with my absolute interconnectedness with the natural forces around me. A couple of weeks ago, on a particularly humid day – the type of day where you can taste a storm approaching from miles away. I had felt uptight, anxious, knotted all day – inexplicably so. Having survived the day at work, I sat down at a desk to check my emails before heading home and as I looked out of the window, the heavens opened. As the rain came, I became instantly aware of a loosening in my temples, a simultaneous downpour happening inside of me and as I raised a cautious hand to my face, I realised why. Almost the exact second that the rain had come, I had begun a terrific nosebleed. The relief was incredible. When recounting the event a day or two later to a colleague by way of explanation as to why I hadn’t quite been on form that day, they replied, ‘But I love that. I love that you are so connected to nature that you’re affected by it in such an instant and powerful way.’

I hadn’t considered that point before and as I did I became of something entirely self-evident: I am not connected to nature, I am nature. We all are.

As a writer, I am perhaps more aware of the way that my own story plays out its narrative, how different perspectives would reserve different versions for posterity, the changing tempos and rhythms, where different plot lines seamlessly cross and intersect and where the chapter breaks fall.

Having had my awareness heightened with these two simple events, these tiny instances of synchronicity, I shall certainly be much more conscious of this in the future and may even find that this is a natural and effective structure for a story yet to be written. My own story. Not a fragment of fiction dreamed up from scraps of my own experience and imagination but my actual story. My whole truth.

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