Nuthatch on Icicle

 

While waiting its turn at the suet feeder, a nuthatch waits on a nearby icicle. It looks like a chilly perch to me, but then i've been going barefoot in the snow.

Today is the day people over 75 can sign up for vaccinations in our state. It's been feeling like a long, cold wait. When? When? When? Then this morning, when is the website going to open? The state Health Department didn't give a specific time because they didn't want to be overwhelmed. After meditation at 7:00, i checked the website again for my sweetie, and it was open! He got his appointment. Now he waits 12 days for February 6, the date of his vaccination.

Waiting through these next cold days for the long-awaited shot.

Waiting. What is "waiting," really? Waiting is not being in the present moment. Waiting is looking forward to the next moment, the next hour, the next day, the next week, the next month. As if "now" were something to be pitched aside in favor of the the desired "then."

The nuthatch perches on an icicle. That is all. Perching, perching. Breathing, breathing. Heart beating, beating.

That sentence about waiting for the suet feeder is just a story i made up.

Cold Last Night

Last night, the temperature here dropped to 21 degrees, so yesterday afternoon, i brought many of my potted tulips indoors. Now, i'm waiting for them to bloom in another week or two.

My sweetie and i are also waiting to see if the virus "blooms" in us. We flew home a week ago. Yes? Or no? The answer is "Don't know."

Consider how many thousands of things we don't know.
What am i eating for lunch? Don't know.
When will i take a nap? Don't know.
Where will i take a walk today? Don't know.

Those little don't-knows don't bother my mind. But then the mind latches on to one don't-know and keeps touching it like worry beads.

I open to not knowing.

Can you say that and feel it?

I am not willing to open to not knowing, because....

List whatever comes to mind. No judgment. Just listen to your list.

Infinite Not Knowing.

How does that feel?

Even the tulips do not know when they will bloom.

Tulips in Flowerpots

In December, i planted tulip bulbs in flowerpots and set them in the garage. Now, they are six inches tall, so i'm bringing some inside to hurry up their blooms. The others are sitting in the waiting room of the front step.

Some of us bloom early, some late. Some of us zoom through school and hurry into adulthood. Some of us lag behind. Some careers take off, and some don't. Some bodies die faster than others.

Patience is the name of the game. Trust that Life (or whatever you may call it) is taking care of us.

Even the outdoor tulips will bloom eventually.

The In-Between

Icicles hang from tree branches. Freezing rain means the ground is glazed with ice. Temperatures hover right around freezing. Drip, drip, drip. This is the in-between time--sometimes rain, sometimes ice. Sometimes liquid; sometimes solid. Rain changing to ice; ice changing to rain.

The in-between time seems like a time of magic. In between night and day, the roseate dawn lights the darkness. In between the day and night, shadows lengthen and dimness prevails.

In between awake and asleep, liminal consciousness leads to unconsciousness.

In the ancient Egyptian calendar, these days before the new year were "extra" days--in between the years.

In-between is not a time of waiting, but of watching. Watching / feeling every moment change into the next.

Wanting Something Different

Yesterday i had 1 hour to spend in my community garden plot. My plan was to turn over the last 1/3 of the garden, plant Brussels sprouts and red cabbage seedlings, plant turnip and rutabaga seeds. And that's as far as i got. The other 4 things on my to-do list would have taken another hour.

Since i don't usually garden by the clock, i was surprised that my body couldn't accomplish all that the mind had planned for it. I was also surprised by how time-less the garden is.

Sure, when i'm home, i often squeeze in a few gardening chores before driving off to an appointment, but i know i'll be back that day or the next. My community garden plot is a 10-minute drive from home, and i know i won't return to it for a few days. Planting the squash and the sungold cherry tomatoes will have to wait.

"Waiting" is when stress arises. I want something (planting) that cannot be had right now. Impatience, frustration, and anxiety arise--more stress.

I had a lovely time-less hour in the garden, chatting with another gardener working in her plot. That calm is overwhelmed by the desire for things to be different than they are.

Wisdom is accepting things just as they are: plot turned over, seedlings transplanted, seeds planted. Ahh. A beautiful breezy day interlude in the sunny garden.