autumn spring

“Let no one think that it is enough for them to read if they lack devotion,
or to engage in speculation without spiritual joy,
or to be active if they have no piety,
or to have knowledge without charity,
or intelligence without humility, or study without the grace of God,
or to expect to know whether they are lacking the infused wisdom of the Divine.”

~ Saint Bonaventure, Itinerarium

Journaling, more often than not, is narrative in real time. The stream of writing occurs as things develop, much more than in retrospect, and thus progress is difficult to notice during the documentation. Without the successions of work projects I’m accomplishing, what is evident is regress. At the same time, I’ll admit to being too close to the struggle to be able to assess from a broader view. Years ago, I worked with a more experienced colleague who would say, “it’s all in how you frame it,” referring to initiating a convincing point to a committee. As critical as it is to perceive into distances, present times seem best handled in proximate increments. Perhaps the transcendence that never happens soon enough will be visible, later.

Compensating for treadmill sameness, the natural elements manifest in an always-changing canvas. Spans of daylight, air, and colors make for a calendrical unfolding. As I note these words, New England is steeped in what we call “foliage season.” Pines and firs are upstaged by vivid combinations of reds, yellows, and russets. Within this visual event is the measure of time. In swirls of storms and cold winds, the bright confetti is flying off baring branches. The passage of time is tangibly on display. During daily commutes, and when aperch on my front stoop, I’m observing vignettes of local colors. As the environment compels, and as time permits, I’ll venture out for the purpose of admiration

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Recently taking an afternoon off, with camera and journal, I drove to the Franciscan community in Kennebunkport. From Portland, the route requires a southeasterly direction. Trimming curved and cresting roads, I saw bouquets of orange and red emanating from stout trees. Temperatures in the low-forties are too good for closed car windows. My left elbow on the sill especially enhanced the aromatic airflow for my driving. “K-port,” as many of us call it, is now in quieter, post-tourist season, thus ambling through to the Saint Anthony Franciscan Monastery was very easy. The church, refectory, and dormitories are closer to the road, with their vast and wooded space extending to the ocean’s edge. The monastery’s grounds comprise trails, a grotto, and a Lithuanian memorial. The Stations of the Cross are discreetly attached to trees along a path that leads to the water. On this recent visit, with a headful of stress and anxious thoughts, I walked some of the paths, sure to the admire the landscape and fresh air, saving a stretch of time at the grotto for last. The entire place is a sanctuary, a place of prayer and contemplation- always the intention of my visits. Settling in front of the grotto, the peacefulness I experienced cleared away what the road breezes had begun cleansing. Indeed, such rarified environments are not mandatory, knowing that prayer and contemplation are always and everywhere available.

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Contrasts are often catalysts for understanding. Colors are crisply comprehended, juxtaposed with their complements. Warmth is cherished in the cold. Light is best appreciated in darkness. Along similar lines, walking over fallen, dried leaves causes me to think about spring. As foliage season is in progress, intermittent and remaining greens continue persisting, reminding me to embody spring amidst autumn and winter. In these times that are steeped in grimness, recession, and despair, my thoughts reach for hopefulness- for spring. I’m seeing and hearing too much of what runs contrary to constructiveness- from world-scale events and social behaviors, right down to business meetings. These things contrast the desire to encourage and to grow well; to be spring, and to refuse bitterness. While watching gardeners store vegetables and bulbs in root cellars, the reminder came to me, to be a bearer of spring through the winter. Resisting bitterness takes shape as eagerness for positive growth, for advancement, and in my choice of framing perspectives. From there, intent is followed by action. As Bonaventure pointed out how such contrasts as intelligence and humility are best appreciated together, so I’ll add that juxtaposed brightness and bleakness stand out as reminders.