Wintering
On turning towards winter’s inner rhythms and still, quiet wonder
I am standing, feeling a thin veil of the sun’s autumn warmth, an encroaching echo of darkness on my back.
I’m noticing, as my mood shifts in sync with late autumn, how the energy of seeking wanes, and the ebbing of wanting curls up. I notice it outside, in the receding luster of tree leaves, and a different kind of air emerging in the stillness. I stand, arms wrapped around myself, quiet.
The artist kept looking at it, three long strands of chimes hanging in her studio. She had thought it an interesting idea at first, playing with repetition and bigness. But something was off. It didn’t look right, or feel right. She kept looking at it for months. Sometimes the string would break and a pile would end up on the floor. So she waited.
I am walking slowly, feeling that aura around me, tucking in closer, the wind letting everything go.
During my morning walks outside, I’m breathing in, letting the crisp cool air take me, then breathing out. Walking shifts something, or maybe something shifts in me as I walk. I’m bearing witness to the release of energy and the ready relinquishing of one season to another. I am falling away, and withdrawing.
The artist knew, at some point, that she needed to disassemble the long strands of chimes. They were already falling. The strings were cut, and each chime was released. And then each chime was disassembled. The sticks and painted leaves, tethered by thin silver wire, were loosened from the collage square and tucked in close together.
I am sitting on the ground, aware of an inner flame dimmed to glowing embers, the deep quiet blanketing me with care.
Everything slows and stills, everywhere. I listen to the crisp, cool air, witness the sky’s thick clouds, and sense the way of calm. There is something so deeply quieting about these days, these weeks. Released from the usual pace, and only the simplest of movements remain. I am sleepy, and an earthly realm surrounds me.
The artist held all the collage squares, released from their own burdens, each with layers of expression and their own movements. Each one felt like a return, a turning, a grounding to itself again. She knew what she wanted to do with them, a simple final expression.
I am lying down, curled on the soft earth, buried beneath layers of leaves and snow, the dark of wonder inviting me to winter now.
Winter is here, and I’m feeling it in my body and mood. I’m not resisting it, nor am I restless like I usually am this time of year. As I give in to winter’s darkness and inner rhythms, I wonder. I sense differently. Like a seed being held in soil, its potential is already there, waiting. But it is unknown to me. I can’t see it yet. I listen, but there is a hush. I don’t know what will emerge.
The Winter Solstice has passed, and Christmas and Hanukkah, too, and New Year’s is tonight. The light is returning, rising, reminding, and renewing, the ancients say. There’s a touch of lightness in this patient stillness. I am Wintering.
The artist rearranged the collage squares in long rows, then tethered them with string in between, a twig on top, and red tassels on the bottom to make two new expressive banners. The last touch was placing tiny red squares in each of the collage squares.
It was like placing seeds in the ground, she mused. Curious, she asked herself what she wished would emerge. Spaciousness, she felt. The image of a bird with wings outstretched appeared, gliding in the air and soaring in flight, then descending on a cliff edge overlooking the sea.
Still, quietly wondering…
LouLou