In the death throes of a strange winter, it can be hard to find your spiritual center. There is no snow, but no one told the grass or trees. The grass is brown and matted down. The trees are naked of leaves. It's seems strangely ominous to see nature uncovered by snow yet in repose. She seems vulnerable, exposed. No way to hide her bare limbs and dark grasses.
Each day as the temperature rises into the 40s or 50s, buds swell only to shrink back into themselves when night brings frost or at least cold back again. For we, pantheists, it's hard to connect with "the god of our understanding" at times like these. Occasionally, we are wonder struck by a night sky in high definition with stars and planets seeming close enough to touch. More often, we find only crumbs of hope in the activity of birds at the neighbor's feeder.
Mostly, though, northeastern folk deprived of our snow, also lack our winter inspiration. Where is the brightness permeating through bedroom windows when the moon reflects off the snow. The fresh energy within as we shovel our way through new-fallen, clean and lovely snow. The impact of freezing wind on nose and red cheeks. The mad scramble of the body to adjust from the wild elements to the civilized warmth of houses.
In this unnatural winter, body and spirit get bored. There's no good way to contact the god in nature. We are thrown back on our own resources, too much in our houses and cars, starved for beauty and elemental danger. Roxie
No comments:
Post a Comment