Whatever Happens, Don’t Freeze Yourself In Time
Thaw, Dissolve, and Evolve
We were shoveling snow again. We had so much snow that some snow piles were over my head. As we shoveled, I thought of my garden buried under the many feet of snow.
“Will I ever see it again?” I wondered.
I knew the answer, of course. I knew that spring would come, my garden would bloom, and truth be told, by fall, I would yearn again for the inward quietness of winter.
In that moment of awareness, I stopped wanting it to be spring.
Instead, I enjoyed the scrape of the shovel on the driveway, working with Del, who I could see in the distance shoveling his way towards me, the beauty of the fallen snow, and the song of the birds in the tree who sing with joy no matter what the season.
I saw things differently. I saw my garden, but this time it was a snow garden.
Each flake that fell added to the abundance of the garden. Each flake was free. Each flake was an individual idea, unique and special, but one with the rest of its brothers and sisters, dancing in various ways but always with the same intent.
The weather had given us even more than a snow garden.
We had an ice palace on our back porch, where we kept one of our bird feeders during the winter. It was stunning. The light glanced off the huge icicles, which are always beautiful, always unique, and yet always part of the whole.
Snow and ice are wonderful symbols of uniqueness, even as they remain one.
They are also wonderful symbols of frozen moments of attention.
Each snowflake is a frozen pattern. Frozen moments of attention are also patterns frozen in our thinking. We remember the moments as if they were happening right now, never letting them thaw and dissolve away.
This pattern of frozen moments affects our lives by freezing memories, which become stuck points of view and frozen ideas of how they were or could be.
We often bury our dreams and hopes beneath frozen memories.
As beautiful as my snow garden and ice palace are, they must dissolve and evolve into their unfrozen state before refueling the earth with the water it needs to bloom in the upcoming seasons.
In the same way, the patterns of our frozen moments of attention must thaw, dissolve, and evolve in order to refuel our lives with the spirit and love we need to bloom.
One way we stay frozen is by wanting to be somewhere different from where we find ourselves.
In the snow, shoveling away, I wanted to stand in spring and green. This kept me from fully enjoying the gift of the moment.
There are many times we want things to differ from what they appear to be.
We may want to be out of a job into something else, out of a relationship into another, out of one life into a different one, but all of this wanting robs us of awareness of the beauty of each moment and freezes us into the moment of wanting.
Instead of wanting, we can pause, if just for a breath, and feel the beauty of what is already present.
Yes, it can look cold and uninviting, but with a blink of an eye and a shift of thought, it can be beautiful and comforting.
Shoveling snow or cleaning up of any kind can be joyous or painful. It is not the event—it is our idea of it that changes our experience.
The sun will eventually melt the snow garden and bring out the summer garden. Love, like the sun, will eventually melt our frozen moments of attention and bring out the beauty of our lives.
It will happen. It always happens, but if we have closed ourselves off to it, no matter how brightly the sun may shine or how much love is in our lives, we will not experience it.
Be still in the moment, and instead of wanting it to be different, enjoy its gifts.
Why not embrace each moment with open hearts, thawed and flowing thoughts, and enjoy the beauty it brings?