It happens every Fall season. I slow down. I enter a state
of Melancholy. Those out of touch with
this seasonal, deeper, inward turning, of the soul, might call it depression.
However, I think more highly of the seasonal mood, like a
trustworthy and faithful friend, that ritually returns every year. I believe that this inward musing is
something deeper and older; perhaps from a time long ago, when a conservation
of energy was a needed survival instinct with the approach of winter or perhaps,
even now, in modern times, a turning within that helps preserve my soul.
Turning inward and slowing down might be an inward revolt; a
type of an adjustment made against a society that moves at an insane pace. If the pace of the culture continually overrides my inner
cadence, not allowing me to contemplate matters of the soul, then perhaps my
soul revolts by slowing down into melancholy.
Sometimes when I cast with a nymphing rig and a strike indicator, I can
see and feel how the surface currents are dragging my flies faster than they
should be drifting. I then need to slow down the drift by mending the line up
stream, allowing the flies to slow down, and settle into to the drift of the pool
I am fishing.
Likewise, I sometimes need to mend my life. I need to mend the pace I am living. I need to
make an adjustment. I need a season, even if briefly, to slow down and
contemplate, who I am, and where I am going. I need rest for my soul. Why go at
a crazy pace all year and year after year?
I need to ask, what does it profit me to gain the whole
world and yet lose my soul?
If nothing else, if I can slow down as I walk the banks, I
might better see the 25-inch Brown that lies under a seam line.
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