Sprituality and The Cycle of Life

Now all the fields are made of gold
the animals are lowing
All this light is a wave
Who knows where it's going?
He said follow me
I will follow you
-J.A. Unpublished song

I've been struggling a bit as I try to reclaim a stronger sense of spirituality.  Looking back on life it seems that Christianity has been twisted and weaponized. Worse, the very fabric of life has been weaponized.

As a child I loved the routine promises of each changing season. Early spring, around Easter time, was wonderful for a surprise snow storm. April and May bring the fireflies who dance among the trees in an ancient and mysterious pattern.  I realize I'm in hell but know God as I chase them. June gives way to June Bugs. July is a visual feast on the 4th of July and as the July and August heat approached I was always between the sprinklers eating fruit flavored icees and yearning for a late night to watch meteor showers and other space weather phenomena. 

The first part of Fall is usually similar to Spring in Texas. Balmy nights in the 70's and 80's with a nice breeze. Except late Summer and Fall brings the drone of the remaining cicadas singing in the trees.  That's how it is here at the moment. I saw the most beautiful sunset earlier but couldn't get into a position to photograph it in time since I went walking my dog without my cellphone. 

I find comfort in weather and nature. Flowers, trees, plants, bugs, the cycle of life. All of the visual and auditory stimulation lets me know I'm alive in a place of wondrous potential. 

What saddens me now is that even these things seem to have been weaponized. Seasons don't flow as they used to and I'm only 42 years old. So, in these past 4 decades something has changed. The signaling of nature is off time and off balance. The extreme weather we have now is still unlike what I remember from childhood when we might have had a blistering summer or a surprisingly frigid winter for our part of the country. 

There were no fireflies here this year nor last and the June bugs haven't haunted my door since I lived in Austin. Something is definitely off. I know it with the certainty of my native American ancestors whose blood still runs through me. 

I yearn for the environmental predictability of the past, and this is just how my mind works, but I think of the music that was out at the time when fireflies were still shining for little children and meteor showers were still visible even in urban skies. I can't help but liken it to the fragility of Morrissey's vocals on "This Charming Man". Swing on, Gladioli, swing on.