Fish Under Ice

My fishpond freezes during the night and thaws on a sunny day. The goldfish are still swimming underneath the ice, though i'm not sure "swim" is the proper word. They move through the water. They are not hibernating, but they are logy. They are cold-blooded creatures in chilly water.

You know that cold reduces inflammation and swelling. Cold also increases metabolism, improves sleep, and improves your immune response. Some of my friends are practicing cold therapy--taking cold showers or other cold exposure. I'm walking around the house without slippers and even going barefoot outdoors for a few seconds at a time.

There most likely will come a time in our old, old age when cold overtakes us. Can i greet the big chill as an old, cold friend?

The goldfish will be in a torporous state until April when it's time to sow alyssum seeds (yesterday's post :).

Big Fish in a Small Pond

Last November, my little fishpond had 19 goldfish who were all 6 years old and about 4 inches long. This spring, one remained. I found no dead bodies, which leads me to suspect the great blue heron fished them out last fall when i wasn't looking.

Two weeks ago, i bought a dozen 19-cent goldfish, one inch long, at the pet store. The frogs ate them for dinner. Last week, i went to a bigger pet store, which had 35-cent goldfish, almost 2 inches long. I bought 2 dozen.

The remaining large goldfish hides under a rock. I suspect she is depressed, having spent 6 months in solitude. But now, a week after the teenage goldfish arrived, she is swimming about, leading the school of smaller fish. I suspect the big fish in my small pond is blind because she can smell the fish food, but she can't see it.

We too are blind to the "waters" we swim in. Cosmic consciousness is all around us and through us, but we can't see it or feel it because we're so caught up in the details of life.

Relax. And stay alert. Rest in life.

All Snow is Impermanent

Raking Around the Snow

Big piles of snowplowed snow are disappearing fast--evaporating from the top and melting on the bottom. This means the ground is rather soggy. Squish, squish, squish. Add in yesterday's April showers, and i am surrounded by various forms of water--in the air, on the ground in puddles, and in the ground as mud. Fortunately, there's more air than water, so i can breathe comfortably. (And my west Texas dry skin has softened considerably now that i'm home in the North Country; my lips are no longer chapped.)    

                     

All things are impermanent. I've been learning this chant, and applying it to many events in my life. All snow is impermanent. All mud puddles are impermanent. All the gold fish in my pond are impermanent--20 of them have disappeared, leaving only one. All lives are impermanent. All bodies are impermanent. I hum this chant throughout the day. 

All things are impermanent, including me.

Great Blue Heron at the Fishpond

A great blue heron has been spending a lot of time at our little fishpond. Herons have a reputation for eating all the fish in fishponds, but so far we have some goldfish remaining. The frog population seems to have been decimated though.

Death comes to those we love. This is the way of nature.

When i raise the window shades at six in the morning, the movement scares the heron away. It goes to roost at the top of the weeping cherry for a couple of hours. It is a much more patient creature than i am.

When i look out the window at dusk, the heron flies away. Oh, it is persistent.

Patience and persistence are two of the qualities we need in meditation. We wait without "waiting." We effort without efforting.

The heron flies away.

Death in the Garden

Death comes, unexpectedly, to the garden of Eden here at the end of a dirt road. This morning, while we were eating breakfast on the deck, we heard a kerfuffle of birds in the nearby woods. Bill saw a crow for a second, we heard more songbird chirps and chatters, then i saw the crow flying low through the woods. I guess he was having his breakfast too.

When i went out to feed the fish in our tiny fishpond, i found the remains of a goldfish carcass on the adjoining terrace. Raccoon, i suppose. Last night.

I bury the 2-inch carcass under a nearby plant and contemplate the cycle of life.

Flies having breakfast

Feeding the Goldfish

The little fishpond in my patio garden is 4 feet wide. Since it is 3 feet deep, the fish live there all year long. The resident goldfish are Comets, which are reddish-orange, perhaps mixed with white, and Shibunkins, which are a calico mixture of black, white, and reddish-orange.

I stop feeding the goldfish when the water temperature goes below 45 degrees, usually in mid-October. At that temperature, the fish become quite logy. They look like they are on slow automatic-pilot, unable to dart about, even for food.

December has been unusually warm, and the water in the fishpond is 50 degrees, so i've fed the fish this week, but not every day because i don't want to over-stress their metabolism. Too much food will kill them. The directions say "as much as they will eat in 5 minutes," which isn't that much in cool weather.

Too much of a good thing also stresses us. When we see, feel, hear, smell, or eat something good, our automatic response is "More!" But more is not necessarily better. "More" is craving in disguise.

We are in the season of too much food and too much shopping. Slow down. Eat mindfully and shop mindfully.

Let's think more thoughts of peace, goodwill, and joy and fill up on those :)