Frozen North

It is C-O-L-D here in the North Country. Freezing. Below freezing. Way below freezing. Frozen. Frozen hard.

And the sky is blue. The sun is shining. It's a beautiful day.

The house was cold when i got up this morning, but 5 hours later, it's tropical in here thanks to passive solar sunshine.

Just when i want to categorize something (or someone), i see that the opposite is also true at the same time. Cold AND hot. Inside AND outside.

Identity is a peculiar thing. It keeps changing. Just like everything else.

Blue Sky

We are on vacation in the Caribbean, expecting sunshine every day. Yet a few days have been overcast with sprinkles or easy tropical rain. By afternoon, the clouds clear and the sun is shining in the blue sky again.

The Blue Sky vine (Thunbergia) is a lovely familiar tropical vine whose periwinkle flowers drop on the ground.

Rain falls. Flowers fall. It's all impermanent. Things change. The weather changes. Flowers change. Yesterday the blue vine flowers were fresh and lovely. Today they are old and brown.

I'm enjoying the blue sky here in the Caribbean.

Homeopathic Remedy

After trying every anti-itch salve in the house for my poison ivy, my acupuncturist told me about the homeopathic remedy Rhus Tox. Rhus is sumac and toxicodendron is poison ivy, so i'm not sure exactly what is actually in Rhus Toxicodendron, but i can tell you this: It works. Itches went from front-row fiery to distant pings. How tiny sugar pills can do that remains a mystery to me.

Mindfulness can have that effect. We sit down with worry, anxiety, or sadness. We begin to watch our breath or sensations in the body. If we can keep our attention circling around or near our meditation object, those dark thoughts become like scattered clouds in the sky with periods of sunshine. We recall some sweetness in our lives--gratitude, love, or kindness--and taste that tiny taste.

Smile.

The Desert of Winter

This morning the temperature is above freezing--34 degrees. "Wow! It's warm out," my neighbors say to each other. Our coats are unzipped, and i'm wearing just a light fleece jacket. After a week or two of zero degrees Fahrenheit, 32 degrees feels like a heat wave.

Ice is melting, but we're not fooled. We're still wearing our yak-traks, our Stabil-Icers (studded snow tires for your feet), or micro-spike crampons, even to simply walk across the driveway.

My unheated garage is six degrees warmer than outdoors, so i take advantage of this heat wave to water the 65 pots of tulips and spring bulbs i have sitting in the garage. Winter is a desert of a sort, with water frozen and therefore unavailable to plants. The flowerpots have been frozen solid for the last 2 weeks, but now they are thinking of thawing. Just in case little tulip bulb roots are slowly growing in those flower pots, i don't want them to be parched.

Winter is a time when we ourselves feel parched--for sunshine and for warmth. Yet we all have a warm heart, if we simply take the time to notice, take the time to feel. Unzip the armor around your heart, and trust that your heart is indeed flowering.

If you need a reminder, check out my guided meditation A Flower in Your Heart.