Harvest your inner child

It’s October, wan, chilly, orange-brown, dead-leafy October. And because October is the month of my birth, I’ve been relaxing a lot and taking naps on the daily. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not lazy or anything like that, there are simply seasons when I sleep more and seasons when I sleep less. Along with the Fall, the Winter is a sleepy season. I attribute my sleeping patterns to the amount of time I spend waking in the Spring and Summer.

It makes sense to me.
I follow the circular footsteps of the sun.

There are other reasons I love this time of year:

Autumn is ripe for the exploration of the imagination. It’s the time of year when the veils between worlds, waking & dreaming, living & dying, are at their thinnest – think about Halloween when we dress up as scary, ugly, sexy, funny, alter-egos, or Dia de los Muertos when we celebrate the dead, or Samhain when we honor the innate chaos of the universe.

Cultures across the globe practice similar holidays of magic.

I remember one year I spotted a vine-y winding plant growing in my backyard. I couldn’t identify it other than maybe perhaps being a squash. Around harvest time, I discovered it was a pumpkin patch! I had a genuine pumpkin patch magically sprouting to life in my backyard. I felt rather like Cinderella…

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This year for Halloween I plan on dressing up as an elf. I have a forest green cloak and a hat of similar coloring. All I need is a quiver & bow, which shouldn’t be too hard to manifest; I practiced archery back in the day, I imagine all I have to do is access that muscle memory and fffwwwiippp! I’ll draw myself to a bow.

One Hallow’s Eve in the past I dressed up as a shaman and was subsequently arrested on a train to Philadelphia. It was a whole spectacle. An officer tackled me after I refused to snub out a stick of incense. As far as I was concerned, it was part of my costume. I think the mask scared him. As well as the staff I was carrying. He later told me it was rather suspect, but I think he meant frightening.

Whatever the case, the past is the past, forgive and forget, the whole nine yards, and as a nervous fellow once told me (who by the way scared the living SHIT out of me), “I ain’t got time for no shenanigans.”