Late Winter Stirrings

February 2020

Dear reader,

I am continually astounded remembering that right now, for all of us in the Northern Hemisphere, seedlings under the ground are alive with potential. 

Here in Colorado, snow and seasons-past vegetation cover still frozen soil. Winter is here, and holds us in her womb. The birds are beginning to trill new song, warmer days cycle through, and the sun lingers longer in the sky. From seemingly barren stalks, plants are revealing swelling buds. Amidst the quiet, new life swells and prepares to be born in spring arriving.

This time marks the stirrings of transition, of hidden seeds beginning to open and reveal new life underneath the surface. 

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And at the same time, for many of us, there is a heaviness. 

A much needed time for quiet and respite can cross a threshold into deep longing for the inner and outer experience of shoots emerging from the ground. Visible manifestations of delightful aliveness, and the warmer days to come. 

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I encounter days and moments when my mind paces, impatient, and I feel more enmeshed as wave than witness.

Coming into contact with these places reminds me of the ways in which death, and the long pauses of life, can bring up fear.

Fear, along with cries from the mind of injustice. A kind of suffering accompanied by the sentiment, ‘life cannot be this way!’ 

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As I humbly learn to listen and yield, I feel and hear winter - and all of her asked and necessitated pauses.

She teaches profound lessons on quiet, on sitting in the dark, on coming into contact with places within us that remain hidden in shadow. She teaches lessons on ambiguity, on the pain that can accompany death, and on the grace that can allow pain without suffering.

I come to know that staying present and embodying these spaces can create a sensation of being stripped bare. It can reveal frozen places, the intense sensations of thawing, and senses of becoming frozen again.

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Weeks ago, I was overcome with awe in a moment of witnessing the horses I work with, who live out in the field all winter long.
There they stand, together, even on the long, cold, snowy nights. 

This image and remembering has stayed with me, warming and steadying my heart, and helping to guide my presence and attention amidst all of the rich and challenging gifts that late winter brings.

A few weeks ago, it’s wisdom came into poetic form I share with you now…

Together, On the plain

even when it's cold
so very cold
that freezing rain
has turned to sleet
and we are now blanketed
in blizzard

open faced run in sheds
are slim protection
as our long bodies
are buffeted
by winds

and we shiver
under the icicles
forming
on our backs

we stand
here
on the plain

under the black,
snow whipped,
Colorado night sky

we stand
here
on the plain
together.

together,
our Shivers
bring us closer

eyes closed,
that which is
beyond our bodies
melts
one another’s
hearts

we do not cry out,
‘life, you cannot be this way'
we do not demand
respite

we simply 
stand.
here,
on the plain.

safe, 
together
belonging, 
together

our bodies,
exquisite vehicles
of steadfast 
resilience

I have begun to call to mind and heart this image often, moved by the ways that horses embody these pauses, these places, this season, and all the discomfort that can arise with intense sensation.

I imagine it can hurt, the frozen icicles clinging to their coats.
I imagine it’s scary at times, especially for the old and the weak.
I imagine they feel tired from all the shivering.

And yet, they stand, present to it all.
Yes, the days of warmth and lazily eating hay in the sun will return. And yet, all that is here is here, now, shivering, alive, and magnificent.

Here, they stand.
And most importantly, here they stand together.
Safe together, belonging together, leaning into one another for warmth of body heat and communal heart.

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Holding this image, I come to remember the exquisite ways our bodies hold us, no matter the blizzards that swirl within and without. I come to rediscover the magnificence of being here, alive and present with sensation, despite the intensities of the freezes and the thaws.

I come to witness the ways our minds decry injustice and create needless suffering. And in these moments, I witness the ways that acceptance melts tensions in our bodies with warmth and love.

I come to remember that all has its place, a remembrance that is so essential when the confusion of the swirl obscures what we can see.

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And, what feels most fundamental, this image reminds me of the warmth and grace of togetherness.
It reminds me of the ways we depend on our togetherness as a necessary foundation that enables our resilience, a bedrock that supports us in riding out the difficult storms with grace.

While the strength of our bodies is finite, together, in a safe, healthy herd, we can tap into a well of communal strength that fills our hearts, renews our tired bodies, and calms our minds.

Especially in late winter, when past seasons harvests begin to run low, I am in awe of the ways in which a full, connected heart enables and enlivens steadfast resilience.

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At the tail end of six months of winter, I bow in gratitude to all of the human and nonhuman beings who fill my heart with a sense of belonging, grace, and joy.

I bow to the ways in which my heart can reach outwards to touch and warm the hearts of those who share in my web, and in the EquusLibere weave.

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As we round into spring, may we be present to the immense gifts of winter, death, and quiet.

May we learn to embrace sitting in the dark.

May we celebrate our own exquisite vehicles of resilience.

And may we all feel fullness and peace in belonging and togetherness.