It’s Fall now – my favorite season of the year – and as busy a one as I can remember. We are making sauerkraut and kimchi and putting up apples. I’m back at the college, teaching a handful of English and writing classes. The kids are back into their homeschooling routine. The leaves are turning.
I started studying A Course in Miracles in the Fall (many years ago now). I ordered the book in October, received it around Halloween, and began to read and do the lessons in early November. By the time the snow flew, I knew that I had found the spiritual path for which so much of my time I had been searching. It’s nice when that happens.
Nice, yes, but also hard. A Course in Miracles – if it is the right path for you (and it isn’t for everybody, nor should it be) – is demanding. A few months after I began studying (in late Spring actually), I discovered Tara Singh. In the light of his teaching, my practice became very devoted and intense. I think for a lot of students I’m a pain in the ass, but I mean well. I’m just doing what feels right and is most helpful.
The course is – as its name suggests – a course. We are allowed to approach it like students. The more willing we are, the more humble we are, the more open we are, the better our learning experience will be. Miracles meet us where we are – psychologically, culturally, physically, emotionally, spiritually – and then takes us as far as we are able to go.
Slowly we reassess our lives. We see what works and what doesn’t. We make adjustments. Slowly we turn inward. We reach that point where “[m]en have died” (T-31.IV.3:4) and like the maple tree facing winter keep going. We hunker down, turn inward, and trust the light and the rising sap. There are laws that we follow – very simple ones, very generous ones. It takes time to see this but that’s okay. It’s not a race. And the end is sure.
You can not escape from what you are. For God is merciful, and did not let His Son abandon Him . . . There is no path that does not lead to Him (T-31.IV.11:3-4, 7).
I remember this in Fall, wandering around the fields and forests, sitting by the lake, working through the garden. You see the colors and the light and no longer confuse it with what is merely external. Your mind is changing: what is beautiful becomes more so and all you can see is what is beautiful. Truly, what else is there? So you open a little more. You take another step down Basho’s “Narrow Road to the Interior,” enter Dickinson’s space between “the form of Life and Life,” and meet Frost’s secret at the center of all our dancing.
I stood today in a whirl of falling leaves and thought with respect to Heaven “it cannot happen soon enough” and heard that still quiet voice within say “it already has . . . it already has.”