It is November's final day Then comes December. I find myself quiet and contemplative Tears want to fall, but can't— Lexapro numbing— It is both a loss and a relief. I like being at the corner of the couch Gazing at the tree Snow has fallen It is windy and cold. A question comes to me: What do I need to get out?!?! There is a lot of internal and external weight Enough to cause my feet to ache So I plan to make a list of what to get out And follow it little bit by little bit Until my feet feel light. ~Nikki, The Soul Reporter
Tag Archives: winter
The surface is ice and does not move- much like the way I’ve become. Yet beneath, the water keeps moving. It maintains it’s aliveness- much like I am.
It has been a while since I have posted on this blog. There hasn’t been much time for reflection and for writing much more than school papers. I decided to go back to college in the fall for social work. I also work and maintain the other responsibilities I have had most of my life: kids, home, relationships. But— I had two weeks off for the holidays and I have a month off from school. It took a week or more, but soon the Voice Inside was heard.
This didn’t just happen, however. I had to ask to hear it again. I had to desire the chaos in my head to dissipate a bit and I had to take a walk. I went right to the Mississippi River. Immediately I noticed the ice that formed. The lack of movement- the complete lack of moment frightened me. It seemed like death. But then, beyond the ice, a patch of moving water could be seen. This brought hope and became a metaphor for what I’ve noticed about myself, but could not be fully seen in the busyness of my life—on the surface I seem unchanged—that I am not growing. That a certain kind of death has snuck in and I have become stagnant and at times, icy. But even when this seems true, underneath life still flows. There is an aliveness that exists that is never stagnant or stuck. There is a presence that is fearless in the face of pain and suffering and love and life and doesn’t ice over and become numb.
There is more I could write, but this is a good start to warm the waters I suppose,
The Soul Reporter.
Happy 2015. May we all have many more moments where we see what is beneath the surface.
Stiff Like Winter.
A Short Spiritual Memoir: Gradual Growth & Awakening ~
I feel stiff like winter.
I long to thaw like spring—and
See what transpired in darkness and struggle.
My life has felt harsh and ugly for so long, like those last days of winter when the snow is gray and the sky matches, and you have had enough of those bitter winds biting your bones. I don’t want this anymore. I want kind and beautiful. I find it again on a short walk. The day is as my daughter describes it: she will not sweat and and she will not freeze. It is a day of transition from winter to spring—a glimpse of what is to come.
As I walk I ask for more of myself to be revealed. I stop and look through the bare tree to the sun peeking through the gray. The song of birds remind me I am back. I needed to come back—home to Minnesota where I experience these transitions from winter to spring and later, summer to fall.
I know I have been through something awesome and difficult, and feel like everything will be alright now—at least for awhile. The end of an era, and it makes me cry. The tears thaw my stiffness and shed my heaviness, and prepare me for the warmth which is to come.
Thank God for this transition of tears. Sudden joy and elation might startle me otherwise. It is these days of transition: 32 degrees. Sun shining hazily through the gray, which make life of deeper meaning and connection possible and compatible with our ever-evolving soul.
As I end my walk, a woman approaches me and asks, “How’s the path?”
“It’s fine,” I tell her.
The Soul Reporter
Sometimes the Road is Like This
Another short spiritual memoir~
The path was icy on my walk the other day. It made me mad. I just wanted to walk—walk lightly and not timidly, afraid to fall. Walk without a care instead of having to be careful. But, sometimes the road is like this.
As I resist the road like this, I wonder: Why do we hate the ice on the road—the obstacles on our path? My answer: We fear our fate. We fear the fall. We fear our incapability. Yet—we do not have to be at the fate of a fall- always.
We can go off to the side where the road is clear or filled with soft snow, which grounds our steps. Or we can walk slowly and tightly uneasy the whole way, ensuring we don’t fall. Or we can let go a bit—find the resources we have, such as swinging our arms which keep us balanced.
But, sometimes even when we are balanced and loose we may fall. This is just life.
A bit later in my walk, as I continued to resist and hate the ice, I found myself in my head demanding the birds sing. Here I was out for a stroll mad about the ice on the road and irritated the birds were not, at the very least, singing to make my stroll more relaxing. At this point I realize: Wow—have I ever been demanding lately? I get why. Most of my mind has been preoccupied on events I have no control over. The ice on the road. The birds in silence, and a great many other things.
This is just life, and sometimes the road is like this.
The Soul Reporter