A Gutsy Guide to Getting Your Mojo Back

Cheerio Pinkies, and happy Mojo Monday.

Joy here. Today’s Mojo Monday exercise was inspired by the extraordinarily talented Pink Posse member Christa, who wrote this exquisite letter on the Posse blog. Naturally, we at OP were instantly inspired and started typing up our own hymns to this often overlooked but most precious month. HUGE thanks to Christa for all she has stirred up with her words. Here’s what poured out of me (but before you read it, please check out Christa’s … it is gorgeous, poetic, and the reason for this powerful Mojo Monday exercise).

Dear October,

When on earth did you get here? And when did you get to be so STUNNING? Your arrival with all its crystal crispness has drawn me outside at every possible moment, to work, to walk, to wish. San Francisco summer is one persnickety sister, and September’s like her younger sibling. But you, October, you steal in without a scene or fanfare, taking us all by surprise, blinding us with your light, awakening us to the change all around us, calling us to live appreciatively in it rather than be rocked or jostled by the inevitable turning of the seasons of life.

Back in my fear and loathing stage, when I was in a very different place (physically and in every other way), you were to be both feared and loathed by me … despite your benign beginnings, the tail-end cold of you would shoot straight through clothing to bone, diminishing the delight of fall colors. I never bothered to emotionally alight on anything that would be so fleeting and impermanent. You were a harbinger of the long cold winter to come. I dreaded the long darkness you represented. Maybe now that I’m here, in a place where seasons mean a change in day length more than one in temperature – but also here, in a place of slowing down and SEEING that there’s kindness and there’s beauty and there’s love – I am able to breathe you in for the marvelous gifts you bestow.

For me you are the impending birth of my first-ever niece; the anniversary of my parents; the death of my father (and the celebration of his life). You are when we moved into our magical house on the hill; you are the tinge of holiday nervousness; you are a descent into a quiet contemplation that I am determined this year to recognize as simply another season of life.

Now that you mention it, October, I do feel the slowing. Things aren’t as crowded and frenetic. There’s more spaciousness and less stress. Ostensibly nothing has changed, aside from you being here, wide open, and inviting me to take a deep breath and settle in. Every day wasn’t meant to be summer. Life has its winters too, and you walk gently beside me as I take steps toward this understanding. Beginnings are wonderful. Endings are treasures. Everything in between is just fine as well. And on it goes.

Thank you October for opening my eyes to the unmistakable exquisiteness in all the things of life – even the cold, and the dark, and the stillness, and the death.

You are so beautiful,
Joy

Little does Christa know the layers of discovery she provoked by starting this. For me, this exercise ended up being much more about Owning right where I am right now; the present moment; and all there is.  It pulled me back into the now, and opened my eyes to new dimensions of acceptance and surrender. It reminded me of a passage I recently read from Chyogyam Trungpa’s Shambala: Sacred Path of the Warrior:

You begin to see that there are seasons in your life in the same way as there are seasons in nature. There are times to cultivate and create, when you nurture your world and give birth to new ideas and ventures. There are times of flourishing and abundance, when life feels in full bloom, energized and expanding. And there are times of fruition, when things come to an end. They have reached their climax and must be harvested before they begin to fade. And finally, of course, there are times that are cold and cutting and empty, times when the spring of new beginnings seems like a distant dream. Those rhythms in life are natural events. They weave into one another as day follows night, bringing, not messages of hope and fear, but messages of how things are.

So Pinkies, start with a letter to October on this beautifully autumnal Mojo Monday. See what comes up. What are you ready to own, accept, release? What are your feelings in general about the start of fall, and what is coming up for you that’s unique to this particular October? Maybe it will feel better to whittle your words down to just today, or this very second. Or perhaps an ode to this Whole Year feels more appropriate. Whatever it is, Own it all. And please, of course, share your letters with us in the comments section.

Yours right now (and now) (oh! and even now),

Joy

****Hiya, Pinkies! Lissa here. I was so inspired by Christa’s and Joy’s letters that I just wrote one of my own:

Dear October,

Welcome, old friend! You have long been my favorite season, perhaps because I spent years growing up in Florida, where October heralded a respite from the oppressive heat and daunting summer rains. October emerged with a crispness and the occasional sweater day. Fashions of fall- orange, brown, purple, crimson, colors I love.  After the garishness of summer neon, fall invites a sense of grounding, a return to the earth, as the trees shed their festive sugar maple leaves and flowers fade.

There is an impending hibernation in the air, the knowing of cold days, maybe snow, bald trees, short days. But with it comes an exhilarating hope, as you arrive, splendid in your autumn dress, to celebrate the season’s turn.

But these are merely the superficialities, October. Deeper in lies a quieting of the soul that I crave in my chaotic, frenzied life. There’s a sense of turning inward, of drawing into the heart, and building a cocoon around me. I have this deep sense of knowing that things are about to change, that next October will not offer me this luxury, as I will be swirling in the madness of a book tour, of media attention I fear, of being separated from my family as I spread the Pink message of love, light, wholeness and acceptance. This is coming- I know it. So now is the time to turn in, October, to prepare myself, to strengthen my ties to myself and my family, to heal old wounds, to clarify my vision, to nurture my body, to commune with the Divine, to be still and listen.

This will be the long part of this lengthy gestation. The next six months will be the third trimester, the long waiting before the storm of change. You October, are that turning point, with the conception and development of this phase of my life near completion. You will prepare me to become the butterfly I must.

You are a reminder that all things come, and then all things pass. That life is impermanent, that there’s no point attaching to the spring flower that must fade or to the summer days that linger endlessly. Change is inevitable. We can expend all of our energy resisting it, or we can simply let go.

So this is my mission. I surrender to you, October. I bless you for all that you are and all that you challenge me to be. I love you.

Yours without season,

Lissa