How Do You Experience the Burrowing of Winter?
Q: How Do You Experience the Burrowing of Winter?
A: There comes a moment when the trees are bare, the air feels calm after the autumn winds and the cold settles, inching towards the bones. In some places of winter there is the first snowfall which always brings both excitement and a slight panic to the nervous system of the journey ahead. My yearning for a beach, anywhere, is reluctantly stunted by the reality that it may be awhile before my bare skin is caressed by saltwater and sand. My hunger for thick stews, root vegetables and carbohydrates also indicates my internal chemistry shifting to meet the new sub-freezing temperatures. The beauty and starkness of death as well as the impending end of the year weave in and out of my subconscious mind, bringing me into a profound reflective state. Here I review the months past as if I am saying goodbye to a chapter of life, which of course, I am.
I smile at the warm thoughts, I contract in pain as I relive the difficult moments, and I shed tears of sadness and gratitude, sometimes simultaneously. So much has happened, and now, it is over. That is the death part. I go into my creative hibernation, a cave of sorts whether Vipassana or a retreat if I am lucky, to dive into the vast darkness of my eternal mind in order to bring it to the light of day and go through it, piece by piece as if scavenging for remnants after a fire.
The memories flood through me, missing pieces to the very intricate and complex puzzle of my life fall into place. I rest in awe as I discover a new part of myself I didn’t even know had been lost. As I mourn who I have been, a new me is forming within. I can feel the heart pulsing, and the slipperiness of the walls of the womb around me. It is dark, yes as the solstice is yet to be realized. However, there is light too and I can feel it rushing through every cell as I breathe in and out like a mantra of life itself.
A creative spark ignites in my soul and I follow it like a thread into a new world. There is no instant gratification anywhere in sight, simply the day in and day out of work to be done. I keep myself cleansed, fed, and rested for one purpose only, to allow the muse to work through me. In this death of a part of myself I surrender to her and in some way come alive, again and again.
It is in this way, that I burrow into winter, and without effort, prepare for the inevitable spring.
