Dear ones,

The call of the geese is more frequent now, often in the early evening, dark wings in their V against the sky. I find their calls both inspiring and melancholy, are they really heading South already? The nights are cooler, some leaves are already changing, Fall is upon us. And we come together for our yearly Ingathering Service, to share water we have gathered and to hear each other’s stories.  Our water is poured into a common bowl, becoming our “holy” water, to bless young ones and our animals. 

Water is used in all sacred traditions, for healing and baptism, for honoring the dead and the newborn. Sacred source of all life, I appreciate that we have our own UU Water Communion ritual that was birthed at the Women and Religion Continental Convocation of UU’s by Carolyn McDade. The two wanted to create a ritual “that spoke to our connectedness to one another, to the totality of life, and to our place on this planet.” This ritual has been embraced by congregations ever since. 

How have you been these summer months? I hope that you may have seen family and friends, reunions, gatherings, meals together. Perhaps you traveled to new places or returned to familiar ones. If you have a garden, perhaps hours on your knees weeding, harvesting, tending. Swimming, kayaking, canoeing… Or perhaps you are struggling with a health challenge or a loss that made relishing more challenging. Summer seems to go by so quickly here, breathing in days of deep green abundance that are fleeting. Hopefully, there were good books to read, fresh fruits and vegetables enjoyed, singing and connecting at a worship service, sharing a meal at our picnic, hearing an outdoor concert. 

We come together to begin our new year. Let us share our ideas and inspiration, let us reach out to support each other, invite newer folks to join us, and begin again. It is an honor and inspiration to serve as your minister!

Blessings all,

Rev. Telos

 

Fall Song – Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.