....being winter

Yogis,
Each season carries its own energy. The cool wet playfulness of spring, with her burst of forward energy asks us to let down our hair and sing. Summer, ruled by the fire of the sun, offers fullness and abundance and a chance to manifest our dreams. The winds of fall on which leaves travel, signal a time to shed unnecessary layers and trust in divine order. Then there is winter.

This week winter finally arrived here in the mid Atlantic. A full week of dipping temperatures and bracing winds that had me pulling out the ‘serious’ coat. The one I save for true winter for fear that if I start wearing it too early, I will have no back up plan for the days when wind chills become part of the weatherman’s forecast. I am glad winter is here.

As someone who grew up on the east coast with four reliable seasons year after year, I would feel lost if somehow one went missing. Incomplete. As if I was on a four country tour and inflight to the final destination the pilot announced that he had decided to take us home instead. Disappointed.

The energies of winter are cold, heavy, quiet and still and this week they were all on display. Where less than two weeks ago we had a day with kids riding their bikes in short sleeves and neighbors chatting in front yards, this week whenever I opened the door I saw nothing. Nada. Quiet. Still. And cold.

It takes the cold to convince us to go inside, both literally and figuratively. To stop doing and begin being. And when we do the mind, over time, also begins to slow and become quiet. We become more aware. In tune with what is here.

As I ventured out, bundled in my trusty coat and new neck gator (a winter upgrade!) I noticed that with the world so still, anything that does appear can’t help but be noticed in this crystal-clear air against a dull grey background. A handsome bright red cardinal lands under my faded blue birdbath in the garden. The plump berries on the holly tree attract the attention of a flock of robins. The wind and I both howled under the glow of the full Wolf moon seen rising through bare trees.

In the quiet, where the usual cacophony of noises is not competing for our attention, each sound becomes distinct. Heard. The ruckus of the crows as they argue overhead. A startling throaty squawk from a gangly blue heron who lifts from the ground effortlessly under the power of his immense wings. Windchimes. The packing down of snow under my boots and my own breath under my scarf. The clickety-clack of bare branches colliding, like an instrument being played by old man winter.

Winter represents death. As I look to my garden I know that all life underground is resting. The roots and seeds lie quiet and still as they nurture themselves. They understand the energy that will be required of them come spring to push their way through the hardened ground as new life. Winter also represents the beginning.

These energies of nature are also found within us as we are not separate, and we need them all for wholeness. The four seasons create the perfect circle of life and every year they give us another opportunity to practice it within ourselves. I am finally getting better at this winter thing.

It has only taken 59 years,
SARAH