Night falls gradually this winter evening as five-year-old Carmen and I step lightly out of the woods. We try to feel how it happens, the coming of night, so subtle, yet distinct. An owl hoots across the meadow. Carmen hoots back and the owl hoots again; she looks up and smiles at me.
The symbol of yin and yang is ever present in our western culture, yet we don’t pause to consider what it means. The balance between opposites is always relative, dark to light, cold to hot, male to female. Rarely do we have complete darkness or full light. The ancient symbol is of curves intertwined and the opposite contained in a small area: black in white and white in black. We depend on the rhythm of day and night in many ways, yet we often ignore the prompting nature generously offers.
Ancient indigenous peoples, like the Chinese and the Haudenosaunee (or Iroquois), lived by seasonal cycles and learned by observation. Many ancient peoples practiced rituals of gratitude for the earth and lived in harmony with natural rhythms. For many centuries, indigenous people lived on land without degrading the soil or fouling the air and water because they understood that their lives were intertwined with the elements.
Our modern culture interprets black and white in opposition instead of a balancing polarity. Opposites need not be in conflict, but in dynamic relation to each other. This simple nuance influences everything in our world. In so many ways, we default to domination of nature rather than coherence, conflict rather than relativity. Yet by nature’s example, we can see how to transition in harmony and go with the flow of the moment. As a student of Chinese medicine in my twenties, and to this day pushing 70, I find myself in awe of these rhythms that invite us to align with our world. We can comprehend more if we take the opportunity to pause and reflect on what we see. We must awaken our ancient instincts and allow nature to lead us to new ways of being.
In the midst of writing my book, Coming of Age as Elders: For the Love of Life and Liberty, I am reminded of the simple truth that attunement to natural cycles places us in the moment and helps us align with purpose. Late summer is when vegetables ripen for harvest; the Chinese even give this vital time its own season. As an elder, I feel the late summer season of a lifetime full of fruits of experience, ready for digestion and integration. When we attune to the purpose of this phase, we feel that we belong and can come to completion no matter what we lived through.
Morning light emerges gradually as Carmen and I gaze southeast out my study window. Her favorite thing upon awakening, is to crawl on my lap to watch the birds swoop and welcome the slowly rising sun. Next time you are awake before dawn, pause and enjoy this simple miracle.