I see myself as a river. The colder it is, the darker my waters.
The colder it is, the greater the ice, and sometimes, the sharper my edges.
The process of transformation creates a great potential for creation.
I embrace this truth about myself. I am beautiful as I am ~ edgy and flowy no matter the temperature. The colder the temperatures, the deeper I dive. And at best, I still transform, create and flow.
I am not a mountain. Nor do I pretend to be. I have a friend who reminds me of a mountain. Mostly, because she pauses and thinks before she speaks, and her laugh comes slow and sure. She also, as it happens, specializes in "twitter-length" prayers. She texts them to friends. Slow, careful, thoughtful ~ that is a unique specialty.
Then there are those of you who shine like the sun. You, who can absorb the golden light, that pours universally on us all, and then just marvelously beam it to the rest of us, like golden warmth. You know who you are. And I love you for all of that. I used to think I could do that too, and could melt all the ice between friends; imagining to replace it with laughing flowing joy. Not true. It is not my nature to be unchanging in this steadiness. Nor it is my role. I flow, I interface, I mingle with the environment and with its changing energies. And in that role, I reflect the magnitude and potential for transformation. Through change, one can experience so much beauty.
I suppose, the easiest time to know me, is in the lazy hot days of summer, when the sun and light glisten off my shiny bright surface, making magic and mystery in this miraculous now. I too feel enraptured in this effervescent alchemy; when the interaction of light, motion and particle all dance together in an endless thread of transformation; where I begin and where I end, is an endless curiosity. I am speechless. That is when I engage with the world around me like starlight in motion. Surely, that is an easier time to know my being.
And yet, that is only to know me in one season. And the darker deeper waters of the cold hold a mystery also worthy of investigation.
I have friends who can sit in their cauldron of fire and transform on a regular basis, non-seasonally, in ways that suggest acceptance of one's natural dissolution, without loud display, or outer disruption. Admirable. My combustion comes loud and clear. You can hear me groan, creak and moan for miles, for hours. Close friends, inform me, that they can also feel me, as I shift and change. Like a frozen river who sings, cracks and shudders in the deepening cold night, you can hear my transformations Clearly. I am not a silent mover.
I can also imagine being a cloud, rising from the valleys and joining all their cousins, in all forms, in endless flow. Mingling, shifting, mutating. Such a beauty to behold! The closest I have felt to that is when the mist rises from the streams in early spring. There is an giddiness in the air, a playful joy. I also imagine how would it feel if I were a tree, securely rooted and rising to the heavens to meet all of the comos in song, wind, dance, laughter, and wisdom.
Oh, and of course there are the endless delicious breezes. How I fall in love with them. They wisp over me like a story of enchantment, moving across the surface of the water, tantalizing me with stories of other places and other motions. Interacting with my surfaces, moving me into waves of delight. And when they pass on; I smile and continue onward toward the ocean.
Each moment is different, and each moment is Now. And Here.
I feel the edges of my approaching combustion into creation; waiting, waiting, and waiting as the freeze deepens. Creaking, groaning, knowing that soon, at last, I will burst through ice, or what may try to contain. To restore deep flow and expression of motion and light.
It is said that the sound of the cello is the closest to the human voice. I imagine this voice would be deep, low, and under the water like the creaks and groans of the deeper rivers flowing beneath the winter storms, and ice. A voice that knows her transformations, and sings with them. A being like a whale moving and calling, for all the ocean to hear, singing slow and sure. If my voice could be like a cello, I would be like that, singing for all the ocean to hear.
And you, what form do you embrace as you play in this game of both spirit and body, wave and particle, all in endless dance and motion?
My dear companion cat, he is not a river; indeed, he chooses to dress himself as a Jaguar. He plays along and winks at my flowing nature. And when it is time, he curls his paws around me, as he does now. Holds my hand tight, and shifts me to quiet. Helping me to rest.
I imagine the stillness he is; I close my eyes. I still see the deep dark flowing waters beneath the ice formed by the motion of stream and air, and I know that those deep dark waters flow true. I smile; I rest.