Our guest blogger today is Carrie Newcomer – songwriter, performer, educator and author. Carrie’s latest endeavor is her new recording The Point of Arrival and you haven’t lived until you’ve let it soak in. Carrie regularly collaborates with Parker Palmer, is the 2019 recipient of the Shalem Institute Contemplative Voices Award, and her recent media appearances include PBS’s Religion and Ethics and Krista Tippett’s On Being. Ms Newcomer has seventeen nationally released albums. Please explore her website. This meditation is used by permission of the author.

 

One of the most poignant sounds in nature is when the crickets begin singing in the daylight hours-even when the sun is high in the sky. They are responding to the abbreviated light that is now two hours less than it was in June. “There is inevitability about these boundary weeks. Loss is a natural part of human life, but we trust that though we lose many things in the course of a lifetime, we find them again in deeper ways.”  Marv and Nancy Hiles, The Almanac of the Soul 

I also noticed the crickets singing while sitting by the morning pond this week. It was a subtle and yet powerful reminder of the passage of time, the turn of the seasons, another opening and closing. These are the days when we travel through liminal space, boundary time, between what was, and what comes next. Sometimes in boundary time we feel pressed to “get there,” to get on with it, and arrive at a next destination sooner than our souls are ready. Sometimes we hang on with both hands to what is fleeting and passing (while knowing deep down that all things must pass). And yet, when I sense a shift, when I stop and breathe fully into boundary times, there is usually something poignant and beautiful for me there. It is worth paying attention in the boundary times, to feel the density and weightlessness of time, and the expansiveness that happens when I embrace it all.