Rain and snow.  Wet and cold.  Feelings and frozen.  Isolation and powerlessness.  What can we build from this–more than a quiet Wednesday afternoon in anticipation of a Thursday that is open-ended.  Slipping and sliding, trying to get up a slight hill.

Sometimes the little things create the frustration.  Sometimes it is the tiniest hair that falls onto our roof that seems to collapse the building of our faith.  But slow breathing, couch sitting, through bad eating, conscientious kindness and bringing the next indicated action closer and closer to my skin.

Meaning is highly over-rated.  Humans merely being, choosing an adventure in stillness that opens our dimensions to defy time, space and sadness.  Divine essence.  Here and now Tao cow.

Ohhhhhhhmmmmmmmmooooooooohhhhhhhhmmmmmm.

Snowed in, but no excuse for missing this spiritual practice for four days.  Family, neighbors and a foot of snow that stays and stays and ices and isolates has created snowbanks of illusionary barriers in my heart and mind. 

Slipping on cold irritation.  Crashing through icy barriers of communication.  Trudging through wet slow frozen snow.  Sliding on slick streets of frozen feelings. 

We take so much for granted here in the western world.  Divine discontent blesses us, faces us into the wind of powerlessness when social circles tighten to the cat, snack food, and repeats on TV. 

I call on humility to soften my shoulders and dissolve the crass coral edge in my heart.  I draw on the compassion of the still standing palm tree covered in snow and ice.  Even a fish out of water eventually stops flopping around. 

Be still and feel the whisper of the Lady in my ear singing: tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to be free, tis a gift to come down where we ought to be.  And when we are in the place just right we will be in the valley of love and delight.  When true simplicity is gained, to laugh, to love, we will not be ashamed.  To turn, to turn will be a delight.  Till by turning, turning we come round right.

May the labyrinth of feelings bless me with tears, fears, irritation, humiliation, softness, grace and peace.  I open my heart, mind and soul to the song of the One that is the seed under the snow, the chirping sparrow on meltling branches, returning light, warm love, center of my world.

The cold frosty crystals of snow descends and quiet resonates throughout the neighborhood.  Winter stillness teaches us just to be.  To be, not to be doing.

Icy roads remind us of our fragility, laugh at our assumptions of the power to move on the earth.  Transportation ceases and we sit looking at ourselves with the question–what are we doing here?

Frantic illusions of holiday essentials crack and shatter like ice falling from the rooftop.  Needs supersede desires and we huddle around the furnace grates, praising the oil and the heat and the blankets.

Dawn continues.  The Mountain cannot help but blush at her naked rising in the east, and She dances with the morning veils above the lake.

I swirl in stillness at Her soothing Presence.

Maybe it’s all about feeling good vibrations.  If the universe is made of one substance vibrating in different frequencies and modulations, maybe one of the best stories for me to live is to hummm and buzz at the best vibe possible.

Good vibes for me:
Hearing someone crash through a block of fear into that soothing field of just sadness. 
Being in a heated home.
Recognizing that running around in rush hour traffic to do unnecessary errands is not a good idea.
Starting dinner before she gets home.
Dressing so I feel–and look–good.
Reciting the prayers of my sangha.
Seeing my son’s beaming face in a photo send by his dear wife.
Getting ready to decorate with aromatic pine boughs and wood roses (pinecones).
Putting on holiday music.
Hearing my dog’s click click click of his paws on the wooden floor, sniffing out dropped morsels of food.

Being a center of Divine creativity, a flute ready for the breath of Her Song.

She’s right you know.  I am not really caring about things.  I’d rather spend money than worry about it.  I’d rather eat food that pretends to taste good than consciously prepare nourishing fuel.  I’m in the mood to pout rather than set intentions and practice affirmations.

Stuck in the middle of the 9 of Wands–slowly making my way across waters.  I’m not in a storm, but the fog isolates me.  I have set my sails and bow towards the scent of a new land, but it still is so much of a story.  Often my little boat just drifts in the middle of this deep emotion, a raft that is lost without anchor.

But I cannot sink.  No loss of work, no averted eyes, no shudder of a former colleague can pull me to the dark cold depths of the ocean of despair.  For You are there with Your rudder and oar to guide me.  You lead me in purposeful currents towards the land of milk and honey.  You anoint my head with perfumed oil of resiliency.  You restore and refresh my soul.

Surely goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of my Lady forever more.

HA!  I chant this over and over again: peaceful and pure poise.  Poised and peaceful purity.  Purity as peace and poise.  Peace.  Pure.  Poise.

The vibration of these words now enter and soothe every cell in my body.  My blood easily flows in pure peace.  Each muscle of every limb is poised in pure peace.  Words are peaceful.  Sight is poised.  Smile is easy and pure. 

This is called the “Preparing for a long weekend at a trade show chant.”  We are entering into a human laboratory.  First secure a brilliant visionary with a new business–sharp, exact and analytic.  Add a supportive co-dependent big sister type “not-so-silent” partner.  Throw in a couple employees, sales reps and missing price tags.  Mix well with thousands of gear-head wide-eyed old geezer Harley riders and hopping grinning young men leading bored tough cute chicks and POOF!  You have a perfect observation ground for the effectiveness of this chant.

Peace.  Poise.  Purity.

Be.
Here.
Now.

Hysterically difficult.  The mind soars into the frantic future and stumbles in panic of the past.  Anchoring each breath in the present is a life’s work.

Speaking of work–my work is a treasure.  There are presents–ha!  PRESENCE–waiting for me there.

The Presence of the Power of the Peace of the most pure companionship of the Friend is in each of my breaths.

now.

So what is it about this so-called “holiday season” that seems to just pump up the anxiety?  I’m thinking that no matter which holiday is celebrated, what season or what religion or culture that is involved there is a time of increased expectations mixed with feelings of insufficiencies that produce days of distractedness and disappointment.

It is the production over many generations of what “should” be done, what would be “nice”, how we want to look for others.  The illusion of finances having anything to do with personal value is astounding.  It affects so much of our lives.  If we claim a different story, like no presents, no big dinner, no holiday, not even chinese food and a movie, there seems to be a ripple in the force of others that hold that “tradition” as a fierce flag of empty meaning.

Like fingernails on a chalk board, I recognize this day is not a harmonic, but an edgy jazz tone, blue notes, minor chords, dropped melodies.  Yet I receive the gift of a warm house, a laughing partner, and the choice to slowly begin the day again.

There is a saying that fear and faith cannot occupy the same space.  I have to disagree.  It is essential that faith hold hands with fear, or, well, I’m screwed.  They must be very good friends. 

If fear wanders around in the neighborhood of my dark dreary mind, it must be trained to call out for help from faith.  And faith is strengthened, faith’s purpose of balance and comfort is given a focus.

Today therefore, I put my arms around faith on one side, uncertainty on the other, and we skip onto the most certain path of Heaven, chanting “Lions and tigers and bears–oh my!”   Laughing all the way.

Like eternal bumper cars, that’s the squeal you hear from relationships: bumping and twisting and slamming and jolting into each other.  But all of the universe plays this game–leaves to the ground, birds landing on a branch, thunder clouds, even terrorist bombs.  Each and all of us intersect, whether softly or neutronically.

From the smallest atom merging or exploding, it seems that it is up to us consciously to make music from the clapping together of elements.  Like the kiss of fingers on a piano to the clashing of cymbals, each word we have with each other makes some kind of music.

Today I am great-full that my awareness of this natural and metaphysical law gives me a slender pause before I pound the drum of rebelliousness or silent scorn so violent in the room that it sucks up all sound.

Perhaps like the chorus of a gospel choir, I can find others to put their hands together with a uplifting, soul-stirring revival meeting.