The white glow through the windows at 4am is not the moonlight, but the signal that there was a quiet overnight snow. If the snow falls without any witness, does it make a sound? Without an audience, without interference, the creation itself is in a silent secret state of timeless freedom. Authentic expression, untouchable, untouched. Floating crystals, joining hands. Creation has this way of simply happening. And nature will, if given the space, let the chips fall (or snowflakes in this case) where they may. Arrival is not a thing, not a moment, it’s a continual process. And once unveiled, a blanket of surprise revealed that holds a newly awakened day.
The branches are heavy, but willing to hold the temporary weight.
The earth has a sound when the snow melts. The quiet, fertile potential is an almost undetectable frequency below even the faintest of hums. Deep earth rest, far from death, far from life. The vibrant bearing of green sprouts is much anticipated. I buy a neon bouquet of flowers at Trader Joe’s from other places on earth and I save my dried marigolds to blossom for a second time in hot water. I paint with bright, warm colors. The longing is allowed but also assured by the dormant energy contained in the ground of creation - we are reminded that this time is sacred and essential. Sink into this patient silence and see for yourself.
My body hasn’t absorbed direct sunlight in days, weeks, maybe going on months. If the calendar year is one breath cycle, we find ourselves somewhere near the bottom of the sun’s exhale. Not stagnant, but openly void. Release, but with readiness. It’s always there, the light at the center of gravity, and yet the conditions obscure our access to it. I feel this mirrored in my sense of self. On quiet days, the hidden sun reminds me that the potential for my own light source - my own source of creation, the same source of creation shared by all existence - doesn’t waver, but it is the surrounding conditions that are what come and go.
The cold is contracting. I’ll curl myself up for a moment. It’s sweetly ok.
How does the season remind you of places and spaces in your process? What lessons come forth from opening yourself to the patterns and messages of nature?
Keep noticing.
♡ -Kristen