Cold and Silence in the Early Dark

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Today, in church, we talked of transience. After, during silent meditation, a vision: I was sitting, covered in crows, self as a bare-branched tree…until they all flew away, and I was both gone and free.

Gone and free. Just like that, the past is cast off, leaves in a strong wind.

Something is shifting and changing. I can feel a bit of me cracking, allowing room for expansion. The world is returning to the core, and as I follow suit, I find my core to have expanded in unimaginable ways.

More ready than ever to risk with the promise of transience, I can’t hold onto…what? What I’ve loved? What I’ve despised? What I cherish and recoil from? I can’t even hold onto myself, it seems. Best to just acknowledge and let it fall, loving each piece as it flies off to a more suitable environment.

Tonight, walking to work, I stopped to look at the dwindling light. Daylight savings is over, and another sort of savings begins…the saving of words, of heat. The keeping of silence and breath. In the expanding dark, a breath is a sigh of relief.

Some moments are best understood without words, though we do our best to describe them.


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