Snowfall

I’m happy to feel joyful again, watching the snow fall. I missed that, as my practical self fussed more, lately, about snow removal and icy conditions than the natural beauty of a snowfall and a sense of invitation for a warm, safe cocoon.

As I felt joy again for the beauty of this snow, I felt the relationship to the gift I had received—the simple clarity of death. Which, in its mirror-Self, is the clarity of the simple joys of life. On both sides, when all the extraneous gets stripped away, what remains is stark, and true. When we spend time with this little bit, and allow the little to be our all, to be what fills our world, it is a staggering shift.

IT doesn’t change; we do. We do. We, over time and when we’re ready, find such joy and fullness in these simple, dignified things.
A deep breath in, held.
A cat purring.
The touch and warmth of another.
A fond memory that brings a smile and a little laugh, even with a tear.
Thankfulness for home and hearth; for the food we eat; for a warm bed at night.
For another day.

This clarity is a wave, like so much else. She ebbs and flows, fading over time until another loss cracks her back into sharp focus, like a whip.

But, maybe, maybe, we can tend her, and keep her closer, if we’re willing. So often—too often—we’re in a great hurry to distance ourselves from her; to go back to the status quo—more numb than not, afraid to feel all the things, because we fear it will all be too much.

And yet, we constantly wish for more. We sense what else is possible, what more we could have

The more isn’t stuff. It’s experience, and sensation.

We are enough to handle and experience all our world has to offer, if we’re willing to allow our hearts to crack open, and allow ourselves the grace period to acclimate to all the wondrous sensations.

Allow the little to be your all.