Not Missing Out on Winter

(This bit of fiction came out of timed writing in Laguna Writers workshop this week. Here's the cleaned up version. I'm including it here, for it reflects where some of us are with seasonal cycles.)

     Spring arrived yesterday, but I wasn't answering the door.  Or perhaps I was out getting turkey meatloaf.  It was a pajama day for me, unlike the wishful lollers in Dolores Park wearing flip flops and tank tops.  I just pulled my East Coast coat over the Italian men's pj top and old baggy ass sweats.  Stomper boots kept me grounded, not getting carried away by the promiscuous Chinese magnolia defining magenta on Hancock.  I was still hibernating.

     Spring arrived yesterday, rang my doorbell and waited.  She looked up and watched the Tibetan prayer flags being pushed around by the wind.  The plum tree was like me, not getting enough sun to bursth forth and blossom.  Spring looked inside my mailbox - phone bill, junk mail, a catalog from an expensive clothing store.

     Spring took her bright pink shiny hardcase on rollers and sat on the studio bench outside.  She fingered the individualized clay tiles, looked up at the sign.  Yes, a pottery studio.  Spring wanted a clove cigarette, but realized she no longer smoked, giving way to her delicate petal lungs.  Spring looked in her handbag and left me a calling card:

     "Dearie, missed you today.  Be back soon.  Get ready."  And this is what I found, walking home with my turkey meatloaf and digging in the dusty copper mailbox.  Her note all fresh and frothy.

      I unpeeled my coat, dumped the note, and headed for the kitchen.  I put the turkey meatloaf in the fridge, made some Mexican hot chocolate with almond milk, and got back under the covers where I belonged.  The lump at the foot of the bed moved, and my cat shimmied out, disoriented.  He flopped down by my hand topside for a belly rub, while I sipped the Mexican hot chocolate. 

      Warmth went through me, and I tried not to think of Spring's threatened return.  She'd come and stay and be too cheery, and the apartment would feel too small.  I'd have to make up work gigs in other places.  Leave her here with her fairy dust wands, while I hunkered down in some friend's walk-in closet, guest room, or far off cabin.

     For now I wanted to still the hands on my alarm clock, keep time with my cat purring under my fingers, and grow my Mexican hot chocolate belly.  I had five weeks until equinox, dammit, and I was going to have my Winter, no matter what anyone else thought.  Spring was coming for sure, but my cocoon pod time would not come around again for another year.  I wasn't going to miss out on the big, delicious Nothing this time.  Something always comes from Nothing, that I knew for sure.

Red Fox

Certain times in my life I'm graced by magic.  I go out into nature or for a wonder walk in the city and get slammed by the beauty of life.  That's what this blog is about, staying awake and open to beauty, and therefore experiencing something wonderful.  Cocooned for most of the Winter, the most astounding thing to me lately has been my warm blankets.

On Valentine's Day, I was sitting on a bench in the arboretum of Golden Gate Park with my man.  We were talking about things that were causing us stress: money, work, sex.  After 23 years together, we were feeling humbled by our everyday struggles.  Trying to hold space for all that amidst the enormity of our great good fortune.  

He sighted it then, a keen-snouted, bushy-tailed red fox, coming out into the open and disappearing into the underbrush.  We were maybe 30 feet away, but this gorgeous creature was meant for us.  


That red fox was like an arrow.  Its keen snout and ears pointing the way with a lush full tail streaming straight out behind it.  With luxurious thick-looking fur and clear markings, he or she looked well-fed on quail, squirrels, gophers, and other fellow park residents.

Elation might be the right word, this lightness in my heart and the happy-making repetition of our sighting.  Later I found that the red fox brings the Medicine of kundalini energy, sexuality and life-force; shapeshifting; and knowing when to hide and when to come out into the open.

Dear Red Fox, Thank you for bringing hope and the power of shapeshifting.  As Winter melts away into Spring, we're all counting on your Medicine to renew and revive for another round on the big wheel of life. 

Ready for anything

If I can't take what happens, I'm not ready for anything. - John Cage, artist, composer

According to Angeles Arrien's Four-Fold Way, Winter is the season of the Warrior.  We embody the Warrior when we show up and choose to be present.  Doing so means we are ready and willing to be with whatever is here.  One way I'm accessing the Warrior is by volunteering at the Reiki Clinic in San Francisco. 

In Reiki, we practitioners simply show up and serve up Universal Energy to the client.  The client's body-mind system knows where and how to direct that flow of energy.  Relaxation, releasing, and self-healing all take place organically.  Being a practitioner means showing up, getting out of the way, and trusting the process. 

Being a strong conduit for Reiki and holding space for what wants to happen is a very Warrior activity.  Oddly enough, it feels easy, effortless, as if you are really doing nothing.  We take for granted the huge gift of our Presence.  By choosing to show up and be Present, we lend ourselves as witness and create and maintain a strong container for healing.

Anything can happen in life.  By showing up and choosing to be here, we are saying we can take it.  We can respond with full hearts and clear minds.