September LOVE Letter

This morning I looked out over a veil of wispy fog drifting across the lake, baby turkeys darting through the yard, and dew shimmering over every surface—a stillness and quiet that felt unmistakably like fall. Just yesterday I discovered fresh bear scat in the driveway and witnessed the most unexpected, epic afternoon thunderstorm rolling through like a grand seasonal announcement. This week also marked the return of school for my kids, leaving me in a quiet house for the first time in months. The shift to fall has officially arrived, and I’m welcoming it—the cooler mornings, shorter days, pumpkin spice everything, and the gentle turn toward routine.

In our family, this seasonal shift has sparked some big conversations. On the car ride home the other day, we found ourselves talking about summer ending, and the kids quickly shared how much they love summer and how sad they feel when it’s over. Why couldn’t summer just last forever? they asked. Together, we explored the meaning of bittersweet—that when we love something deeply, its ending can feel even harder. My youngest—ever the philosopher—chimed in: “If summer didn’t end, we wouldn’t get another one.” We translated that into a simple truth: endings are what create the opportunity for beginnings. Without the close of summer, there would be no fall, no winter, no ongoing cycle of renewal that we’ve come to count on and cherish.

This week also brought a more tender lesson: the passing of a beloved family guinea pig. While very small in the grand scheme, it offered another lived reminder of how love and loss are bound together. Both of my kids seemed to easily understand that the more we love something, the harder it feels when it’s inevitably gone. In looking ahead, the theme surfaced once more. While planning our annual family trip to somewhere warm in December, my oldest sighed, “I don’t want to go, because I’ll just be so sad when it’s over.” And there it was again—the paradox of love and endings, of joy and loss, and the way every season, in nature and in life, holds both. Together we agreed: even though the more we love something the more it hurts when it ends, it is still always worth loving—because love is where joy is born.

On a much larger scale, on issues that far surpass the ending of summer or the loss of a small pet, we know that the world is brimming with heartache, loss, and injustice. Everywhere we look, people are suffering. At times, the weight of it all feels so overwhelming—so heavy that it can seem hopeless to imagine what we, as individuals, can do to cope or help.

Each of us moves through a wide spectrum of emotions—grief, loss, fear, hatred, rage, anger, joy, compassion, kindness. These emotions are part of being human. What yoga offers us is not an escape from these realities, but a way to navigate them. Yoga helps us choose how we respond, how we interact with others, and how we direct our energy in the face of both beauty and suffering.

One way to engage with our yoga practice in matters of love, loss, and quiet advocacy, is through the practice of Metta, or Loving-Kindness Meditation. It expands the heart beyond 

“me” and “mine,” turning practice into service for the well-being of all beings. Many yoga traditions use it to close classes, as a reminder that what we cultivate on the mat ideally ripples out into the world.The mantra associated with this is:

“Lokāḥ Samastāḥ Sukhino Bhavantu”

Translation:

● Lokāḥ = worlds, realms, all universes 

● Samastāḥ = all beings, without exception 

● Sukhino = happy, free from suffering, in peace 

● Bhavantu = may it be so / may they become 

“May all beings everywhere be happy, safe, and free.” Or more poetically: “May all beings, in all worlds, know happiness and freedom, and may my own thoughts, words, and actions contribute to that happiness and freedom.”

Here’s a short practice you can try alone or with your family/kids:

1. Find a comfortable seat, close your eyes, and take a few grounding breaths.

2. Begin by silently offering these phrases to yourself:

May I be safe (x3)

May I be healthy (x3)

May I be happy (x3)

May I live with ease (x3)

3. Next, bring to mind someone you love deeply. Offer the same phrases to them.

May you be safe (x3)

May you be healthy (x3)

May you be happy (x3)

May you live with ease (x3)

4. Then, extend the phrases outward—to someone neutral, like the person who helped you the other day at the grocery store, or a random parent you saw at school pickup.

5. Then, importantly, bring to mind someone who really challenges you, someone you have had conflict with or whom you very much disagree.

6. Finally, offer this prayer to all beings everywhere.

May ALL beings everywhere be safe (x3)

May ALL beings everywhere be healthy (x3)

May ALL beings everywhere be happy (x3)

May ALL beings everywhere live with ease (x3)

This practice doesn’t erase grief, loss, or injustice. But it softens the heart, steadies the mind, and reminds us that even in a difficult and broken world, or in everyday situations of transitions and big feelings, we can keep choosing love.

As the season turns, I truly hope that you find balance like the upcoming Equinox, softness like the morning dew, and strength in knowing that your kindness, compassion, and presence truly matter.

With loving-kindness,

Holly 

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