“The Earth does not belong to us; we belong to the Earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites one family.”
Physical Setting & Preparation
Settle yourself upon bare earth if possible, or place your hands flat against a wooden surface. Feel the cool morning air against your skin as autumn’s breath whispers of change. Light a single candle to honor the waning light of the season. Let your spine align like an ancient oak, roots extending deep while crown reaches toward the dimming sun.
Opening Invocation | Fosgladh
Mhàthair na Talmhainn - Mother of the Earth - I come before you as the wheel turns toward the darker half of the year. The September earth beneath my palms pulses with the rhythm of harvest’s end, when samhradh (summer) surrenders to foghar (autumn).
In this sacred pause between day and night, between abundance and dormancy, I call upon your ancient wisdom. The maples bleed scarlet above me, their leaves falling like prayers spoken in the old tongue. Tha mi an seo - I am here - ready to receive what you would teach through the marriage of excited anticipation and melancholic reflection.
Body of the Working | Corp
Anail na beatha - breath of life - flows through me as I witness September’s profound transformation. Around me, the world orchestrates its grand finale: feòrag (squirrels) gather their winter stores while eòin (birds) call to their migrating kin. The very air tastes of woodsmoke and ripened apples, of endings that are also beginnings.
I feel excitement coursing through my veins like sap rising in reverse, drawing energy inward for the long sleep ahead. Yet beneath this quickening pulse lies a deep melancholy, sweet and heavy as the last roses drooping on their stems. These twin currents - the electric thrill of change and the bittersweet ache of letting go - flow through the natural world as surely as they flow through my mortal heart.
Gleann is beinn - valley and mountain - teach me that all emotions have their season. The excited chatter of migrating geese echoes my own inner stirring, while the mournful sigh of wind through emptying branches mirrors my soul’s recognition of impermanence.
The Deep Working | An Obair Dhomhain
Mhàthair, faigh mi - Mother, heal me - as I sink deeper into your embrace. The earth beneath me holds the memory of countless autumns, countless harvests of joy and sorrow. I place my forehead against the ground and feel the pulse of beatha (life) thrumming in the darkness below.
My excitement transforms into something primal and fierce - the wild energy of creatures preparing for survival, of seeds containing the coded intelligence of spring within their autumn shells. This is not the giddy excitement of beginnings, but the profound exhilaration of trust in the great wheel’s turning.
My melancholy deepens into something sacred - not the shallow sadness of personal loss, but the holy grief that honors all that must pass away so new life may emerge. I taste salt tears that could be my own or the sea’s ancient sorrow, feel the weight of every leaf that will fall, every creature that will not see spring’s return.
Uisge beatha - water of life - flows through every cell as I become a vessel for the season’s dual nature. The Mother’s healing touch penetrates my bones, reminding me that excitement and melancholy are not opposites but dance partners in the eternal spiral of existence.
Afterthought | Smuain Dheiridh
Take a moment to contemplate:
In what ways does your own capacity to hold both excitement and melancholy simultaneously mirror nature’s wisdom in this season of transformation? How might honoring both emotions as sacred teachers deepen your connection to the Earth’s rhythms?
Closing Blessing | Beannachd Dheiridh
Tapadh leat, Mhàthair - Thank you, Mother - for this sacred teaching woven from autumn wind and falling light. As I carry this meditation into the world, may I remember that every emotion is a thread in the great tapestry you weave through seasons and souls.
Slàn leat - farewell - until we meet again in the sacred dance of breath and earth, excitement and melancholy, death and rebirth. May your wisdom guide my steps through the turning year.
Beannachd ort - blessing upon you - great Mother of all that grows and fades and grows again.