Winter this year has been a challenge.
Oh, I have a snow blower, a cord of firewood,
extra water and supplies for occasional power outages,
but the inner work has been harder than expected.
It is work I know quite well,
and I have faced it competently in the past.
Somehow, though, this winter it seems harder.
It may be that the FUBAR year of 2020
has left me off my guard, fatigued, as are we all,
by an Orwellian world gone mad.
We have, I think, a dose of cabin fever.
It’s difficult to look beyond our walls
and behind our screens,
to get a sense of where we’re going,
what we’re doing.
Like a pilot in a cloud bank,
disoriented with no sure sense of up and down,
I’ve had to remind myself on several occasions,
to straighten up and fly right;
to trust the instruments of my deeper knowing,
rather than my confused conditioned mind,
which quickly loses its bearings in the fog.
The future is no longer a familiar route
and old guidelines do not avail.
It would be easy to fly into a mountainside.
But when I trust the Way I cannot see,
yet know for sure is there,
I find the clouds thin out and drift apart,
and a light-filled spring seems certain.