this morning i recognized, my 'waiting season' has begun...
6 years ago, it was the waiting for my son's birth. last year, it was the waiting to move to our new Home. This Year, i am waiting for a doctor to call, perhaps with life-changing news.
i think back to a phrase- a
quote by either Suzuki or Katagiri roshi, i forget- which has always
buoyed me, especially in each december:
waiting. waiting. for what?
welcome, Advent. chilly days wanting for heat, with a mind like a glowing sunrise...
|Cate Kerr, 'Sun Coming Up and Smiling Through the Window', Dec. 3, 2012.|
Waking up, in the middle of my Waiting. Always this seems to happen in the first days of December, with its branches bare and its sleepy, cold days. I've created a soft burrow of pillows and blankets in a cozy room at the rear of the old house. Windows are abundant here, and so I look thoughtfully at my surrounds, though barely recognizing them at first, accustomed as I am to the lush green cover of neighboring trees. Now new features catch my eye as I peek out of my burrow, and my eye opens wider. And just like that, with a stretch and a yawn, I feel more aware of my living than I have been in months! Oh, that mischievous irony of winter...
It has always made so much more sense to me that the new year should begin at winter's edge, with days darkening so much more early. There seems an innate call for rest, and review: the natural end drawing one to review the last endeavor, before beginning anew. Before I became pregnant with my son this was only an intuition; only when my baby arrived in this world did I appreciate the long, slow nurturing of gestation, of pregnant moments, of life's deepening autumn. It is at winter's edge that the seed-- all combined hopes and experiences encapsulated in a tiny, power-laden package-- finds root in the quiet, unmoving cold that the season provides. And just as a baby does, all that is new before us must first nestle in this nutritive state before the first tentative fronds of new life have the strength to stretch into a wider space.
|finishing up Kate Davies' o w l s|