Expect to have hope rekindled.
your prayers to be answered in wondrous
ways. The dry
seasons in life do not last.
The spring rains will come
Sarah Ban Breathnach
human life has seasons much as the earth has seasons, each time
with its own
particular beauty and power. And gift.
By focusing on
springtime and summer, we
have turned the natural process of
into a process of loss rather than a process
of celebration and
appreciation. Life is neither linear nor stagnant. It is movement
from mystery to mystery. Just as a year includes autumn
death, not as an opposite but as
an integral part of the way life is made.
If we had no winter, the spring would not
be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would
not be so welcome.
Your pain is
the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart
may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you
keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your
life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you
have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of
Spring passes and one remembers one's
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.
The seasons are what a symphony ought to be:
four perfect movements in harmony with each other.
people behind the words
Two - Year Three
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question, "Which is the happiest season of life?" was
asked of an aged man.
And he replied: "When spring comes, and in the soft air the
buds are breaking
on the trees, and they are covered with blossoms, I think, 'How
beautiful is spring';
and when summer comes and covers the trees with its heavy
foliage, and singing birds
are among the branches, I think, 'How beautiful is
summer.' When autumn loads them
with golden fruit, and their leaves bear the gorgeous tint of
frost, I think, 'How
beautiful is autumn.' And when it is severe winter, and
there is neither foliage nor
fruit, then I look up through the leafless branches as I never
until now, and see the stars shine in God's home.
The heart's seasons
with the calendar. Who among us has
not been made desolate beyond all
words upon some golden day when the
little creatures of the air and meadow
were life incarnate, from sheer joy of
living? Who among us has not come
home, singing, when the streets were
almost impassable with snow, or met
a friend with a happy, smiling face,
in the midst of a pouring rain?
Old Rose and Silver
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in
for a new conception of life and God, as they
fight to plant seeds in the spring: because they know that
the only way to harvest. If after harvest there is winter
what does it matter? It is just seasonable.
Like the seeds dreaming beneath the snow your
heart dreams of spring.
noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that
is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and
tries to be round. The Sky is round, and I have heard that
the earth is
round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind, in its
whirls. Birds make their nest in circles, for theirs is the same
ours. . . .
Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing, and
come back again to where they were. The life of a human is a
childhood to childhood, and so it is in everything where
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person's character and their garden both reflect the
amount of weeding that was done during the growing season.
is like spring, an over-praised season more remarkable for
biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season,
and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
Even if today may seem to be a time of total
darkness, it will not last
forever. The dawn will surely come if you advance, ever
without being defeated. The day will definitely come when
look back fondly and declare, "I am savoring this happiness
I struggled back then." It is those who know the
of winter that can savor the true joy of spring.
Day by Day
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|There was an Indian
Chief who had four sons and he wanted his sons to learn
not to judge things too quickly. So he sent them
each on a quest, in turn, to go and look at a pear tree
that was a great distance away.
The first son went in the
winter, the second in the spring, the third in summer
and the youngest son in the autumn.
A year later, when they had all
gone and come back, he called them together to describe
what they had seen.
The first son said that the
pear tree was ugly, bent, and twisted.
The second son said no, the
pear tree was covered with green buds and full of
The third son disagreed; he
said the pear tree was laden with blossoms that smelled
so sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most
graceful thing he had ever seen.
The last son disagreed with all
of them; he said the pear tree was ripe and drooping
with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.
The Indian Chief then explained
to his sons that they were all right, because they had
each seen but only one season in the tree's life.
He then told them that they
cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one season and
that the essence of who they are and the pleasure, joy
and Love that come from life can only be measured in the
end, when all the seasons are up.
If you give up when it's
winter, you will no doubt miss the promise of your
spring, the beauty of your summer and the fulfillment of
|As I accepted the change of the golden hair of my
childhood to the
reddish-brown hair of my youth without regret, so I also accept
silver hair -- and I am ready to accept the time when my hair
rest of my clay garment returns to the dust from which it came,
my spirit goes on to freer living. It is the season for my hair
to be silver,
and each season has its lessons to teach. Each season of life is
wonderful if you have learned the lessons of the season before.
only when you go on with lessons unlearned that you wish for a
Like A Farmer
One of the difficulties we face in our industrialized age
is the fact we've
lost our sense of seasons. Unlike
the farmer, whose priorities change with
the seasons, we
have become impervious to the natural rhythm of
life. As a
result, we have our priorities out of
balance. Let me illustrate what I mean:
For a farmer, springtime is his most active time.
It's then when he must work
around the clock, up before
the sun and still toiling at the stroke of midnight.
He must keep his equipment running at full capacity
because he has but a small
window of time for the planting
of his crop. Eventually winter comes
when there is
less for him to do to keep him busy.
There is a lesson here. Learn to use the seasons of
life. Decide when to
pour it on and when to ease
back, when to take advantage and when to let
ride. It's easy to keep going from nine to five year
in and year out
and lose a natural sense of priorities and
cycles. Don't let one year blend
into another in a
seemingly endless parade of tasks and responsibilities.
Keep your eye on your own seasons, lest you lose sight of
value and substance.
one can better bask in summer's balm than those who have
endured winter's bite. Similarly, it is those who have
through life's darkest hours who are able to truly savor the
dawn of happiness. The person who has transformed the
worst of fate into the best of fortune is life's champion.
Day by Day
is a thing of many stages and moving parts. What we do
ease at one time of life we can hardly manage at another.
could not fathom doing when we were young, we find great joy in
when we are old. Like the seasons through which we move,
itself is a never-ending series of harvests, a different fruit
for every time.
all know that if the seasons were the same, there would be no
We know that without winter there would be no spring. We
without frosts there would be no bulbs and without the monsoon
would be no rice harvest. In the same way, we also know
sorrow there would be no joy. Without pain there would be
I think that's precisely where the beauty comes in. It
comes in through the
fruit of the seasons. He has indeed made everything
beautiful in its time.
My Seventh Monsoon
do you fear the autumn of life? Arenít
the red-brown leaves on
the ground just as beautiful as the blossoms on the tree?