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Posts Tagged ‘mid-winter’

Water is Freezing

Yesterday I stood in my backyard and noticed a huge pool of water forming on the patio walkway.  We’ve recently had a good deal of snow…and then a thaw…then a freeze, some more snow, another thaw and some rain.  While the walkway has been cleared, with the ground frozen, the run-off from the thaw has nowhere to go, so the water pools ankle-deep.  Last night as I waited for my yoga students to arrive for class, I heard an odd crunching sound outside.  I opened the door to discover one of my students stepping through the light layer of ice that had formed atop the pooling water.  She was the icebreaker going through so others would have safer passage (bless her).

That’s kind of how I’ve been feeling lately–like a stagnant pool of water that’s begun crusting over.  So many hopes and dreams move through me, so many creative ideas, and in the cool of my mid-winter body I feel like these things have nowhere to go.  Instead, they build up inside, like fluid in my tissues.  They sit and cause pressure as the stresses of daily living create a thin crust on the skin of my psyche–nothing comes in, nothing goes out.

Mid-winter is a hard time of year.  You’re so far from the beginning of winter that you can’t remember the feel of warmth on your skin or the vibrancy of colours all around you, and you’re so far from the end of the season that you can sometimes believe it will never end.  The body grows stiff, the mind grows cranky, the psyche becomes easily overloaded and impatient, and the emotions break their snowy banks and spill out everywhere.  Mid-winter and mid-winter living is messy.

Nevertheless, beneath the crust of this season’s living and generally unbeknownst to us, there is movement.  Beneath the thin ice cap, water spreads out if it can’t sink down.  It moves around.  It moves through.  Water does not beat its way through obstacles; it continues until it finds the space that already exists and then it enters, replenishing that which has grown bone dry.

If only I could be as wise as water.

For now, it’s enough for me to acknowledge what’s going on.  It’s enough to sit with the sensation of pooled sluggishness in my body and mind.  It’s enough to know that, although a thin crust of cool has descended upon me, there is movement going on underneath.  Microscopic movement, like the fluttering of an eyelash in a slow, summer breeze, but movement nonetheless.  There’s not much more I can do now other than to sit and wait for the thaw to wash away the deep freeze of my soul.  To allow the waters of my hopes and dreams to sink deep and to spread out and, eventually, to spring up here and there in little green shoots of new life.  For right now, it’s all just potential with a low thrumming vibration at the centre of it all.  And for right now I’m crawling back into my dream-cave to emerge in the Spring with a scratch and a snort.

May we meet each other on the thawed path, at the place beyond mid-winter, and may we all be holding armloads of pretty coloured dream-flowers to share with the world.

flowers

Until then…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………..

Blessings,

Tabitha

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