Fresh Snow

May my life never be so sadly arranged that I can’t enjoy a fresh snow.

When I am able may I have a child to chase me around the trees making great pathways and snow angels.

When I have no child may I hike up the hill sweating and panting against the gentle resistance of persistent snow drifts.

When I am deaf and feeble may I set my chair before the window and marvel at the lace and crystal covered trees.

When I am blind and too frail to venture out,

may I rise up just once in the night,

open the door, and stand for a moment

to feel winter’s vast silence on my skin.

Naked Trees in the Moonlight

In the middle of these December nights

there are no voices.

And mine are the only eyes.

I listen

And stare at branches of oak trees in the moonlight.

An autumn storm blew away their summer frill and excess.

All that is left in the silence and snow

is that which the storm could not take away

eternal strength and beauty.

Surrender

When I surrender to winter

We are both surprised.

In the quiet absence of resistance,

she looks me in the eye.

And I look into hers.

No more energy wasted wishing she were spring.

I welcome her with all my senses, tasting and smelling the cold.

She wraps me in her clean white blanket arms.

Our hearts open. I see how beautiful she is

and she invites me to play in the snow.

Waking Up - A Daily Exercise in Gratitude and Discipline

I don't use an alarm. I am, with rare exception, mysteriously able to wake at the correct time. Mysterious because during the day, I am clueless about time. Before my eyes are open, I listen. And I am grateful when I hear the sounds of my husband working. I am grateful he is alive. We have another day together. I am grateful that he is enjoying his early morning alone time. Eyes still closed, I listen for birds. And I'm grateful that I can hear their delicate songs, grateful that I have the human capacity to recognize beauty.

I open my left eye. And I rejoice that I can see the texture of tree tops outside my window. I close my left eye and I open my right eye. With this eye I can't see trees, I see shades of gray blur. And I am grateful for the corneal transplant in my left eye, grateful for my organ donor and his family. I am grateful for trees and another day of vision.

With just the left eye, my new eye, I look at the light fixture on the ceiling. When I was healing from the transplant it was how I measured improvement. Could I see the beaded metal work better than the day before? It's been more than a year and I still see it clearly. I am grateful that the healing is behind me, and I am grateful for this abiding trust that my donor and I belong to each other. . . . . for now.

For kicks I look at the light fixture with my right eye. Seeing the beige blob, I feel lucky to have this reminder that we never see it all. The eye that sees it as a blob can easily be deceived by its limited ability to perceive. And the other eye? Perhaps it too is deceived by its limitations. The deception goes unnoticed because the general population shares the limitations. Uhmmm. How does a physicist or a quantum theorist see the light fixture? I am grateful for perception. And I am grateful for awareness of the curious nature of perception.

Now for the discipline. I want to hop out of bed and head for the coffee. Instead I begin yoga stretches, necessary maintenance for an aging former gymnast and current ballroom dance instructor. I am grateful for the years of dancing. I am grateful that yoga can minimize past injuries and aging. And I am grateful that I am living long enough to age.

I sit for a moment and remind myself that life will not go exactly as I plan it today. There will be some disruption and if I keep my heart open, the disruptions will bring me an adventure, a friend, some surprising insight, an interesting bit of knowledge, or an unexpected sound, texture, smell, or sight.

And I am grateful for a peaceful and mindful start to my day. This part of my day is well lived.

Staying With the Present

What propels us out of the present? We are like children who don’t want to hear what Mom is saying. We look at everything else in the room except her face. Driven by our fear of inadequacy, our desire for the future, our guilt and frustration with the past, we welcome any distraction from the reality of now. To look peacefully into the face of the present moment requires acceptance. It requires acceptance of ourselves, acceptance of reality as it is in this moment, acceptance of the love and life available to us.

Setting time aside each day to focus on the now gives us the opportunity and practice that enables us to discover how rich and nurturing the present moment is. Initially we find that it is much easier to remain in the immediate moment when it is pleasant. It is easier to look our mother in the eye when things are cozy and warm. It is much more difficult to stay focused on the face of the present moment when she is stormy or we are frustrated. With a daily meditation practice, we discover that we can resist the temptation to look away. Eventually we discover that even when reality is exceedingly harsh, we can see and appreciate the kindness and beauty that also exists in the present.