September is a rich, deep indigo: the colour of quiet, dignified credibility. It is a good month, a month, always, of big changes in direction, in practices and habits; a nudge from the grey, grainy chaos of the universe; the arrival of a realisation that leaves me altered. September is kind and helpful. A month of education and thinking. Of revision. And of hope.
This year, I find my body is deeply unwell and struggling, but my mind has new lucidity --brought upon by medicines, no doubt -- that has led to the refining of plans for the rest of the year, the clarity to chart out where I want to be in a few years, the ability to step back and gain perspective. This is such a remove from the usual static-y, buzzing noises that fill my mind. I've been oscillating, yes, between extreme moods -- a side-effect I'd been informed of. But for the first time in years, my brain is awake. It hums to itself. It refuses to sleep. It wants to get better. It rejects destructive behaviours. Even as I suffer some days after a high, manic period, even as I have to take too many anti-anxiety pills or go through jagged crying spells, there's clarity of thought, even of grief. I find it all very new, very cool, very welcome. And I’m not surprised that this comes at this point of the year. September is full of relief and beautiful light. The worst of the summer has passed and the cold isn’t upon us yet. The trees glow in the sun. And just for a little while, we have balance.