I’m curled up inside Rapunzel’s waiting for snow. I smelt it close by this morning as I sniffed the air. The dorje dog and I often sniff the air together. We glance at one another in silent communication as we walk the perimeter of the garden, weaving our creaturely spells of protection.
Right now, there’s an icy silence in the world, and a wind so cutting it that it still manages to find its way beneath all my layers of clothing.
I’m slipping into this quiet, expectant world. Because I am excited, and scattered, breathless and overwhelmed. I warm hot chocolate on the stove in my tiny kitchen, and I pour it into an earthenware bowl. I sit at my little desk, near the sprig of daphne that I picked from the garden. Its heady scent mixes with the smell of hot chocolate, and incense. I listen intently to the wind’s secrets, making it my meditation.
Less noise and chatter, more leaning in towards the senses, and the earth’s whisperings.
It’s best for me not to speak too much, just now, because amidst all the change and challenge, (which ignites and excites me*), I have become ungrounded. And an ungrounded creature of the Air can be a silly, exhausting thing to behold. Dizzying for all concerned. It’s wonderful in a way, but I need to slow it all down, and bring my heart back to a steady rhythm.
Water is the element I turn to, whenever I require grounding, and comforting. Water is my Wise Mother, and through her I am able to seek counsel and nurturing. I will draw a bath later, from our precious rainwater stores – so plentiful at the moment, (one of Winter’s abundant blessings). I’ll add oil of jasmine, sea salt, and my body shall be held, pale and soft in the water, like a pearl.
So I wait for snow, and I search for its signs in the clouds, like a soothsayer. And I remember this as I write, and love, and work, and when the breathlessness enfolds me too tightly.
*I can’t abide stress of any kind, but I adore change. A strange little contradiction, I suppose.