Did you get a chance to look at the November clouds? They were just out of this world. The weather played a great part in the drifts, the shades of grey, the texture, the long clouds that stretched beyond the trees and over the mountains. Then the late sunrise that added a dash of orange or the lightening flash that exposed the gentle folds in the clouds belly.

It is the rhythms that count. The rhythms of  the clouds, the rhythms of the spirit, those that dance and course through life itself. The movement in gestation from conception to birth; the diastole and systole of the heart; the awareness of each successive breath; the ebb and flow of tides in response to the pull of the moon and the sun; the wheeling of the seasons from one equinox or one solstice to another.

These universal rhythms, not the eternally passing seconds registered on clocks and watches and not the days and months and years that the calendar imposes, define the time that is our true home and habitation, the time we dwell within, until our days are ended. The now of the rhythms we are aware. If we lose consciousness of them, we become alienated from ourselves. (Allen Lacy, The Inviting Garden: Gardening for the Senses, Mind, and Spirit, 1998)

We too have rhythms and ritual that guide us through the days.  Rituals that mark our rising and going to bed, cleaning and caring, cooking and eating, greeting and working, playing, fighting and celebrating.

Gaining consciousness of these rituals and awareness that they need to be changed or adapted to suit new occasions when the time arises , speak volumes to the  level of self care that we afford ourselves.

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