the snow rests like a pillow for our thoughts.
it sits with arms open, the soft “shhh” whispering from its lips,
guiding us to sit next to it in gentle silence.
the snow guides us into hibernation, into our warm spaces we call home
where we do the hard work of turning inward during the
season of darkness.
the snow says, “embrace the stillness. be quiet with me.”
it’s during this season, the season of darkness, that we can come
into contact with the places gone hidden. it’s a bit ironic that
it’s only when we shine our lights in the dark can we see what’s been
there all along.
that it’s really in the dark we begin to uncover. to see. to know.
and in order to embrace, we must grow still enough to
hear the plant growing, the spider crawling, the snow falling.
may you allow yourself this time during this frenzied pace that has
become the holiday season. may you learn to embrace the stillness all
around and inside you.
there is a place you must go when you find yourself in no place.
this place doesn’t exist for those who already have a place.
no. this place is special.
it’s where alchemy is born. where dark is light and light dark.
where nonsense is sensical.
where whispers are songs and walks dances.
it’s the place between places.
where clothes come off and all is exposed. where the wounds of the
heart receive tender attention. where the sheep in wolf’s clothing can
reveal it’s sadness for having to pretend to be another. where fear
becomes a friend and love your biggest ally.
this place between places is where you’re stripped clean of all you
knew to protect. armorless, you begin to realize your own words
have been your strongest weapons, most likely trapped behind your
shield and forced back upon you.
whether willing or forced, finding yourself in this place between places
is your greatest gift. to get out, you must work. work can be slow or fast,
arduous or simple. but work you must.
because to be in this place forever is never the plan. just as day turns to dusk
turns to night turns to dawn turns to day again, so too will you transition
in and out of this place.
the world needs you to report back that all is not lost when the lights go out.
that it’s actually in the dark one develops night vision.
that the dark is only as dark as the light bright.
that sometimes the life wanting to be lived lies in the shadow.
what are the songs you
long to sing?
the ones whose tunes effortlessly
drip off your tongue.
whose notes tumble over your
vocal chords like the water of
a babbling brook, or the
low rumble of afternoon
what are the stories you
wish to tell?
the ones full of sweet whispers
of truth, beckoning the nods
of strangers and lighting
souls up like lanterns.
the stories for which there are
what are the dances you wish
the ones that move through you,
taking your body along for the
ride. the ones that are slow and
fast and asymmetrical. the ones
that summon the tides of emotion
and sweep away the cobwebs of
what are the dreams you wish
the pictures of yearning and
meaning and truth.
the ones whose images infuse
the silence with psyche’s
personal language, the one only
she can speak and comprehend.
the dreams that require no words
and yet reach out to the dreamer with
grasping arms and pleas to be
from what cages to you wish to
the ones that mute the song and
stifle the story.
the ones that cripple the dance and
pinch the dreamer by walls
the ones without doors or windows
or locks, that are fashioned out of
wring yourself out of the cage’s
pores. you needn’t be trapped