Like many of my BBEST teammates, I am finding it difficult to rouse my blogging creativity in the deep, dark center of winter. It's cold and I would prefer to snuggle in my cozy flannels while sipping tea and reading a good book. So, in keeping with the theme of rest and hibernation, I will resort to offering something I wrote a few years ago and stored away in place of something freshly written. I hope you enjoy it. Now back to my tea and jammies!
It wasn’t this way for thousands of years while we were consciously dependent on the land and our fellow animals for survival. Farmers knew that they would have a limited growing season and they had better stock up for a long winter’s dormancy. Our ancestors knew that when the sunlight lessened, it was time for lessening their activity levels, giving their bodies time for rest and revival. However, when we started to rely on ourselves and our technologies more than we relied on nature, we began to see ourselves as self-sufficient and independent of changes in the seasons. We could control the cycles and make them fit into the schedules we created for ourselves. Perhaps we purposely switched the order as if to demonstrate our command over nature. It is becoming more obvious that this is a false feeling of security, and we had better examine our choices more closely in the near future. Now that we are out of step, it will become very difficult to rejoin the natural march once too much time has passed and we are far behind the rest of the pack on its migrant journey.
Most of all, by staying in step with nature and out of step with the rest of our culture’s frenetic pace, I hope to let go of my false sense of control over the cosmos and over nature, releasing that feeling of always fighting with my true self. I am, after all, like all the other animals and plants that exist in this place, tied by billions of ancient cells to the primal call of earthly rhythms. We block our ears with electronic white noise, and keep our minds and bodies constantly moving with busywork. Yet in the crisp stillness of a deep azure winter’s night, in the brilliant quiet of a crystalline snowfall, in the mysterious shadow of sparkling icicles as they drape past our windows, a small, whispering voice can be heard calling us to sleep, to sleep deeply and dream of our spring reawakening.