Winds of Change

"I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be." ~Albert Einstein


It has been an unusually windy and dry spring. I've spent more time this year staking my irises, moving fledgling vegetable plants and flower pots around to the least breezy locations, all in an effort to protect them so they have the opportunity to grow and thrive for months to come.

It makes me wonder: when the winds of change come, do we perform the same dance for ourselves in the service of protection? Who's to say that facing the winds won't make us stronger? Or prepare us for some next step, some next challenge, some new version of who we will become?

I had a dream last night of strong winds -- not quite a tornado, but of winds strong enough to tear out bushes and small trees at their roots. In my dream, I watch roots pull out from the earth, witness the destruction inherent in change, but am not scared. Somehow, in my dream, I know that what is happening just is and I have no control over it. Somehow I know that when the winds move through, a new reality will be there waiting to welcome me to grow towards and adapt to. Such is the way of the natural world. Change just is.

Back in waking life, I realize I think I'm doing the plants -- and myself -- a favor in my protective actions against change. But what if the task at hand isn't heading change off at the pass, expecting that we know the outcome and avoiding it? What if, instead, we are being asked to surrender to the moment, to let go of what is and wonder with the giddiness of a child, what might be?

This Spring, what if we could set our attachments aside and let the winds of change bring us possibilities to grow and change that we might never have imagined? I, for one, am willing to give it a go.//

Flowering Consciousness

Allergies aside, I absolutely adore this time of year. On my morning walk yesterday, the apple blossoms were poised to burst open at any moment. A few overachievers had already flashed the deep blush of their inner petals, permeating the air with a scent that stopped me dead in my tracks, nose raised skyward to locate the source. What joy to be led by a sense other than seeing or hearing! Those senses -- the usual suspects -- that we grow almost bored with because our experience of the world is limited by their slim range of capabilities. We begin to expect, in the habitual way humans tend to find comfort, that this is the only way...the right way.

Since my last entry, it's been a month of purging -- spring cleaning like I've never known it. Moving all the furniture, having carpets cleaned, rearranging, painting, sorting through the accumulated gunk, getting rid of what no longer serves us, making space. It feels as though the fog of confinement that a winter in Minnesota inevitably brings has finally lifted. And with it has come the openness and willingness to allow, sometimes through different senses than I'm used to utilizing, what yearns to be expressed -- and how.

The past year-and-a-half of writing from the intention of publishing has taught me many things, not the least of which is that that is not my preferred M.O. I want to create for the pure act of expression, the way it wants to come, sharing what it wants to share, living in the moment rather than being driven by external expectations, pressure and definitions of success. For now, I'm letting writing be what it's always been for me -- something that comes in cycles, its natural ebb and flow, pulling me in at will and setting me free when it's done.

I've always felt this way about my creative endeavors but have never quite allowed it. Being present to the process of creativity, to the now, I can be open to catching the scent of apple blossoms on the breeze and willing to follow wherever it leads.//

Behold the Mystery

Spring has finally sprung, and with it, comes the desire to finally emerge. It's been a long, hard winter, even by Minnesota standards, and I couldn't help feeling over the past month, that we were due. Where was the warmer weather we so desperately deserved? Hadn't we been through enough? Funny, isn't it, how we try to control through our expectations, something as uncontrollable as the weather. Who can predict the wind?

I'm pretty sure Mother Nature wasn't making Spring's late arrival personal. And yet, at times, it can feel that way. Just as, now that it's here, it feels we've been rewarded -- personally. Temperatures teetering at 60 make below zero feel like a dream from the dark and distant past. I wonder, is it our compulsion to live in the past and the future that makes a "long, hard winter" long and hard? What if, we allowed each moment to be what it is?

It's easy to do when the days are gloriously sun-drenched and warm, with nights that are still and cool. When the birds outside my bedroom can't contain their joyful warbling much past 5:30am. When our evening walks at the park reveal so many new discoveries -- returning red-wingers, budding birch, sunning snakes -- that we are called back again and again just so we can be sure to take it all in.

But, doesn't each moment hold this kind of wonder if we simply open to it? Like the crocuses springing up from out of nowhere, can we live free from the encumbrances of the past, free from our expectations of the future and behold the mystery inherent in each moment as it is? Can we choose to move toward the light in any situation? At any time? For no other reason beyond that it's there and we're drawn to it?

Maybe it isn't even a choosing. Maybe it will happen naturally, like the coming of Spring, if we just allow it.//

Finding Our Own Way

One of my favorite things to do, regardless of season, is hike with my husband and our dog at a 400-acre park whose previous life was that of a local resident's farmstead. When he passed on, he left this oasis of woods and prairie, lake and pond, with miles and miles of trail to explore to the city with the stipulation that it only ever be available for public use. My family can't thank him enough for his generosity. The gift of Ritter Farm is never lost on me.

Last weekend, when the frigid temperatures broke for a couple of days, we were back to our old tricks -- waking early to get out to the park to start our day. Trooper couldn't have been happier, waggling her tail as she worked the trail before us, nose to the ground, stopping to scratch in the snow to uncover secret scents. There are few things as joyful to me as witnessing her grand adventures in freedom, exploring, exploring, exploring. If only we could take in our surroundings as thoroughly and with as much abandon...

We couldn't have been happier either. Feeling the early February sun beginning to regain strength is wrought with hope. Good ol' Punxsutawney Phil informed us we still have six weeks of winter to contend with (at least!), but each moment we can soak in the wonder of being out in the cold and feeling contendedly warm, we know it won't be long now until the trees begin to bud and the red-wingers return. All in its own time.

Spring might not be right around the corner, but she's close. Close enough to taste on the wind; close enough to feel on the skin. May we all find our own way to her, and with hope in our hearts, welcome her whenever she feels her time is ripe to arrive.//