Being still while still being
A meditation for the holidays
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Being still
The last black lines on the river freeze to white.
The last snow flake lands on the coop, settling silently onto millions of others.
The wind takes a last gasp as it gives up today’s desire to move everything not firmly rooted.
Stars frozen in a charcoal sky.
Silence.
Being still is the lack of motion. It is the absence of a restlessness seeking peace or work seeking meaning, of hurried feet making progress and fretting hands clenching or grasping or fluttering.
Being still is the moment in our sleep we do not think. The black span of time we cannot remember.
It is the thick ice on the driveway, half-melted into gravel, dangerous and stubborn. It is the little brown bird that hit the window and died freezing in the snow below it. It is chickens asleep on the roost in the evening. It is the currants and pears, chestnuts and prairie standing. It is microbes in the soil waiting and fish at the bottom of the pond resting.
It is not a snowstorm or a fire. It is not beef stew or family gatherings. It is never the thaw, which is anything but still. It is silence, eyes closed, our world holding a deep breath for as long as we can.
It can mimic death or be death. We can’t always tell which in the moment, except for the hope we hold in our aching hands as we shovel snow and move firewood indoors.
Still being
Is an act of resistance. Something that refuses to be erased, silenced, disappeared or rewritten. It is serving a greater purpose we seldom comprehend, hoping - as humans do - that there is one.
It is movement under the frozen ground, a voice in a snowstorm, a demand against those who’d wish us gone, shouting into the torrent, holding firm on the ice.
Still being is taut muscles bending to let the worst go by on its own force. It is the ability to duck and twist, letting only one foot step back for balance, ready to step forward at the moment you feel in your hair, skin, blood and bones is the right one.
Still being is defiance in the face of gaslighters and liars, abusers, hypocrites and condescenders. Still being requires our dedication to exist as a tornado slams us against a wall or a snow bank envelops our damaged souls like the body of a little brown bird.
It is the grassy knoll baring its green breast in a midwinter thaw, a bald eagle scavenging in the snow, a hawk launching from an ancient oak to snag a mouse. It is that mouse ducking under the stubble in time.
Still being is 7 parts surviving and 3 parts thriving. It is the Asian pear tree in subzero winter conserving energy, awaiting that moment in Spring when ice turns to water and the soil gives way for roots to grow.
We need both
This is the time of year when we slow down, re-fuel and restore ourselves. Give yourself time to be still.
Then please, dedicate yourself in the new year to helping our democracy thrive. We will still be here.
Photos from The Heartland
On the Horizon
Our family celebrated the holiday last week, so this week I’ll be taking advantage of the warm weather to prune pear trees.
I’ll also be working up nametags for adopted trees! We’re just shy of 40 right now. Can you help put us over with a paid subscription?
Wishing you the very best for the holidays!
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
I like it. Reminds me of something else that I heard recently. Allowing yourself a break from human doing to human being.