On Monday, I watched a cloud of red-breasted robins descend upon my little woods, filling the trees, the air, and covering the ground.
They flicked at the leaves on the ground en masse, the dozens of tiny bodies sounding like a 300-pound bear walking through the woods.
I had time to watch them, marveling that their russet bellies matched the leaves.
And as they flew they were also like the leaves, with the added animation and sovereignty that comes with heart and lungs and wings.
The next morning it snowed and froze hard.
Any lingering weeds now spent; frozen, limp, and done for the year.
I can relate.
Not the whole of me, but parts.
Parts of me are like the conifers, revving their engines as the temperatures dip, pumping essential oils through their needles all winter long.
But other parts are done for the year. Done and done.
So, I let those parts go, like the leaves falling to the forest floor, like the weeds frozen and limp.
And rather than mourn what was but now isn’t, I revel in noticing what is.
This shedding, this faith, this focus on what is? It’s The Wisdom Keeper’s specialty.
The Wisdom Keeper knows what to do with ebb.
She is the one at low tide scouring the beach for treasure, vacant, finally, of the ever-moving heft of the ocean.
The Wisdom Keeper walks along this landscape, grateful for the bareness and quiet, knowing that it makes spotting treasures so much easier.
This archetype helps us shed what’s no longer relevant, the same way the trees shed their leaves when there’s no longer enough sunlight to make the effort of photosynthesis worthwhile.
She helps us relinquish the tide to other shores.
She sees our white-knuckle grip on permanence and lovingly peels our weary fingers away, one at a time, watching with us as it escapes like a long-caged bird.
This season, The Wisdom Keeper invites us to release the clutter of the summer garden so we can appreciate the single red cardinal perched on the stem against the snow.
Or a cloud of red-breasted robins, a momentary miracle revealed only by the grace of bare branches.
Let The Wisdom Keeper archetype help you see what is instead of focusing relentlessly on what isn’t.
love and late autumn,
xo
kv
