The equinox is a time of balance, with the scales tipping tomorrow toward light, growth, and activity. We see the sprouts of what incubated dormant all winter, and we have the planning and promise of summer. For me, the balance between these two seasons is a turning point.

The things we planted last fall were rushed and haphazard, like a dropped box of mixed seeds. I don't yet know what we planted, or where, and I don't know how these things will fit into who I am or where I am going. It's still to early to tell, and there is some thinning that will be required.

Summer, however, carries the promise of planning and planting, of intention. We are to a point in the year, in our life, that we must conscientiously decide what seeds to plant in our garden, in our children, and in ourselves. While cause and effect are ever present forces, we are in the position to decide our causes. To live intentionally, conscientiously; to manifest growth, joy, and beauty.

Blessed be!

All of us, even those who are not attached to any formal religion, have need of that which silent prayer satisfies. It is the need of gathering one's inner resources. –Felix Frankfurter

I used to pray. Not the kneel by the bed with hands folded kind of prayer- more the silent gathering of resources. I had my ritual. Every morning once the sun rose, I would open all the curtains (and windows, if it was warm enough). Top to bottom, front to back, starting near my alter, I'd welcome the morning sunshine into our home. I'd get my cup of coffee and ring my great chimes, which hung in the living room. Once counter clockwise, to clear our space, then once clockwise to bless it. I'd stand near the storm door if it was warm, drinking in some beautiful (summer) Oregon sun and fresh air, then I'd go on with my day. It wasn't much, but it centered me.

When things got too harried in the house, I'd smudge before everyone came home. Cedar counterclockwise, sweet grass clockwise, chimes to carry the intention to all the spaces I might have missed. This was my home-grown silent prayer.

I haven't prayed in 7 months. My alter, chimes, and herbs were in a box for 6 of them. Now my chimes are hung, but instead of being centered in our house, they hang on the edge in the sunroom. Their music no longer touches every room. My alter is still packed somewhere with knick knacks. My herbs are buried under orphaned remnants of hurried packing. My prayer was an organic part of my day, the space we lived in, the way I worked. I needed an external ritual for my inner space, and now that we've moved, my prayer is gone too. I start over.

This space will not accommodate that prayer because it didn't grow here. This rediscovery process will just be part of re-planting my roots. What grounds me here must grow here, and become entwined in this new space. My new prayer will be born of time and space- it will meet needs I didn't have in Oregon, and abandon those that did not move with us. It will be a natural extension of my old prayer, connecting these two places, but be unique to here and now, moving beyond that place and supporting me as I move beyond the person I was there. I just have to be patient and wait for it to grow.