Longing for the light won't bring it back.
But, if you can allow yourself to settle into what's cozy in your life, or meaningful, it helps.
What if losing something isn't a loss but a gain, if we just look at it right? Like the chance to get cozy, especially if we have enough warmth in our lives in other ways. Then, goodbye isn't empty or loss but the next step of something wonderful to come. It's surrendering.
What have you been longing to surrender that has felt like loss?
Who would you be if you let go?
What gifts can come of this?
In contrast, what are the ways you experience the feeling of coziness in your life? Of love?
Here is a poem by Mary Oliver that speaks of preparing for that great change in seasons, of fall as a willingness to release -- like a gift -- what has been long held. How lovely! Enjoy.
Song for Autumn by Mary Oliver
In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.