We walk around for months and months wrapped in layers of clothing and scarves and hats and gloves and socks that could defy an Arctic night.
We scrape our cars of ice and snow with tiny appliances and drive down slippery hills and watch muddy ruts freeze into accordion-like furrows of treachery.
We bitch and complain while some of us laugh and throw snow at each other.
Some of us might actually play outside and fling ourselves down slippery sloped mountains on tiny wooden accessories.
Others of us hunker down in front of a fire or Netflix and never move again.
For months.
We manage, each in our own way.
And then something happens.
Something remarkable.
Something magical.
The earth in her brilliant perfection, continually moving and shifting, even if we very smart mortals aren’t aware of it, and in just the right moment, right on cue, leans yet again toward the sun.
Again and again and again.
Somehow, through a synchronicity and awe-filled process beyond our human understanding, somehow, it happens.
The earth begins to soften.
The grass releases, relaxes, shivers and stretches toward the warm light.
The flowers poke their glorious heads upward.
The birds return in full cacophony.
It all changes.
Changes come slowly, subtly, quickly, magically.
This New England spring has been a reluctant one, having her way with us; she has taken her time, keeping her temperatures cool despite the light bursting from the heavens and the magical celebration of returning birds.
It has, despite the temps, been an awe-filled time for me.
Here is one reason—the birds.
I love birds.
Let me share some of my neighborhood birds, home again in full-hearted jubilation—get ready for some serious bird-sounds:
Such life!
Such energy!
Such presence!
What does any of this have to do with us, we might ponder?
Everything.
Absolutely everything.
We are the earth.
We are the birds, the grasses, the flowers.
We go to sleep—we shut down.
We awaken again.
And again.
Around us spring mirrors our possibilities, our unending hope for renewal and resurrection.
To all of us, I say, let’s wake up softly to the gentle light.
Let’s wake up softly to the greening grass.
Let’s wake up softly to the birds, the squirrels, the many little and big creatures stretching awake.
Let’s remember again—and—again, we are the earth.
She is us.
Let’s draw from this shift of season the energetic jumpstart we need to realign, reconnect, recommit—
To energy.
To vitality.
To ourselves.
To one another.
Happy Passover, as we celebrate liberation from bondage.
Happy Easter, as we celebrate the hope of resurrection.
A happy and joyous spring moment to us, all.
Dear Friends,
How might you partner with spring to awaken? What activities can you literally do and/or what can you relax into, to help shift your energy? Consider and let me know. I am aruni@rnetworx.com.
May this holiday moment be filled with light and love for you. May you relax into the awakening springtime.
All blessings,
Aruni