I used to think Winter a cruel and demanding teacher of all the hardest lessons, but time has taught me differently. Now I see Winter as the teacher who is willing to wait to be listened to — the very opposite of demanding. She is patient, and she is not going to raise her voice.
The solstice is nearly upon us, and I hear Winter issuing an invitation to see what we haven’t previously seen. In the early morning when I let my dog out, I am astonished by the cold clarity of the stars through the barren tree tops. That is the sight that Winter offers.
This season is the template for rest before rebirth, and we can use it to make some breathing room for the unknown. To acknowledge that unknowns are a part of the fabric of existence. I have the sense that many of us need to find a new relationship to what we can’t currently figure out or change as well as a new way to wait for what will be. I hope the audio in this newsletter helps make some space in your imagination for that.
Breathe, friends. Some of you need to know there are new things ahead that have yet to break your horizon. Hold on. You have every reason to hope.
The audio in this newsletter is one chapter from the Winter section of my book Creek Music. I’ve had the audio version of it almost entirely ready to go for a long time, yet I haven’t carried the project over the finish line. I will in the new year. In the coming year I will also be starting to work on audio meditations. This is an idea that has been brewing inside me for a few years, and I’m excited to turn my attention to it and share it with you. Your thoughts on that (or on any of these words I’ve shared) are welcome.
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