Daffodils in the Snow

Daffodil leaves are popping up through the snow. We are in the midst of winter-spring. Or is that spring-winter?

This is one of the problems with concepts and categories. We think "spring" means spring and "winter" means winter. Meanwhile, each day is full of changes. Sun, snow, rain, ice, and a new word my sister discovered "graupel," which means a soft, snowy hail.

Change. Every day the weather changes. Maybe we need 31 different words for each day in March to describe various combinations of conditions? Even then, dissatisfaction would creep in because spring or winter or the in-between doesn't look like it's "supposed to."

Keep your eye on the change. It's a deep teaching.

Hail the Size of Beans

Hail pounded my metal roof a couple of days ago, making an awful racket. The hail was the size of beans, although it looked like mothballs bouncing around in the rain.

I was surprised the hail didn't damage more plants. Some plants, like my annual poppies, stand straight up, while various weeds lay on the ground looking pummeled.

What keeps us straight and steady when stress is hailing down all around us? Yet another friend has lung cancer. Someone else is having a replacement heart valve replaced again.

These super-stress events call for compassion and equanimity. The pummeling hurts, and it is impermanent. Weather changes--it comes and goes. Our internal weather also changes.

But while it's hailing, it hurts. Place your hand on your heart. And breathe.