spiraling through my origin

Do I cut straight to the chase, drive towards my goal?
Or, go 3.14159 times the distance,
See the round world,
Spiraling through my origin?

∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞

The kernel here is a challenge. The direct way appears more rewarding, leaning into the glistening goal of immediate gratification. Yet, there are rewards from traveling a round, taking side streets and time to listen to people who ramble. Here there is more than enough time for tea, which is really… more than enough time.

The challenge is to meet the responsibilities of life, marriage, income, parenthood, inner growth, physical health, and yet remain open to the wind, delicate and unpredictable events, subtle movements and tender expressions that are easily dwarfed by plans and objectives. Before I was born, in my mother’s womb, I had no ideas. Now, head full, there is great reward when I return, spiraling  through my origin.

shift the mountain

My proclivity to worry keeps me from being present,
prevents my tasting sacred ordinariness.
Snowdrops blossom alongside the path:
my opportunity to shift the mountain.

∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞

The difficult economy can be seen in the retail stores which are close to empty. People have closed their purses for major expenses, wondering how long the downturn will last. Those with invested savings have seen losses of 25-45%.  Jobs are hemorrhaging across the nation.  It is easy for my mind to be captured by worry. Thoughts are hooked by newspaper headlines, radio stories, television coverage. As a result, I miss miracles. This weekend, while walking with my family through the park, there were burgeoning snowdrops all along the path, new life.

The mountain is a metaphor for the mental model that is so large that it is immovable. It is almost impossible to let go. It becomes everything, even to the point of obscuring the view. Yet, the spring brings the tiniest signals, little flowers that sprout as beacons.  The world is telling us, it is time to shift the mountain.

spring’s subtleties

Two warm days, ice crystals melt.
Pachysandra rises glowing green… then February’s frigidity returns.
Lengthening days, my fiftieth spring. 
Only now I notice spring’s subtleties.

    ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞ 

A good friend writes and closes his note, “Hoping these early days of spring are tempering your soul soil well for the coming growing season.” Early spring?!  He must be joking. It’s still February!

Yet, I look around. A couple of days ago we had a short span of warm weather. The frozen plants uncurled from their crisp, gray and rose to greet the sun, verdant. For just two days ice crystals turned to water before the moisture was packaged again by more cold.  Here in Maryland the light is growing by a good two minutes each day. Those seeds under the soil, they are taking all this in.  It is only my 50th spring. In earlier rounds I have missed spring’s subtleties.

frozen still

Seeds lay beneath soil in darkest cold.
Subtle warmth of growing daylight reaches through dirt.
Molecules begin their dance.
Patience for dormant worlds, frozen still.

    ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞     ♥     ∞ 

Still thirty-four days shy of spring, the cold maintains its stiff grip on latent kernels of energy. Patience is hard. The darkest day has come and gone over a month past, yet cold persists and even strengthens. Winds are sharp and bite.  Ready to unwind and look around, feel the spring of tendons unwinding, but the ground above does not yield. It remains hard, gelid.

Subtle beyond sense and deep within, imperceptible to nerves, chemicals begin to stir, engaging each other. The cycle has shifted and nature’s flow swung back, away from the crepuscular chill and toward unrealized heated waves of sunlit days. Yet, movement is imperceptible. Everything feels frozen still.