Monday, January 25, 2010

Snow on the Mountain

First fire, then ice, both being a wondrous thing.

I wake up early Saturday morning to a bright chill in the air, much related to the weather being frightfully nippy outside. In typical theatrical fashion, I excitedly lift my arms into a stretching yawn before swinging my legs out of bed.

In order to wake up, I must perform my breathing meditation, yoga, at least two cups of water, then coffee. Saturdays are usually my day to languidly read and explore relaxation and restful consciousness, a little scriptural study, or browsing the net. This morning was no different as I pick up a book I've been meaning to get to for some time, quite possibly, years.

So I decide to try hanging upside down on my inversion board, which is in my son's room, and I catch a glimpse of what I could easily call one of the most beautiful sights I've seen in a while (besides the glowing face of my son Kai): snow on the mountain.

Yes, my goodness, what a majestic sight, the pureness of the snow, the bluish tint to the white, suddenly gave me this exhilarated feeling of wanting to fly into the mountain's fluffy winter coat and get a taste of the seasons, fully enjoying the absence of snow on the ground near my home. I stood there in awe, just staring at the meditative calm before me. Here it was, the mountains that see it all, experience it all and yet emerge unchanged from its experience. This mountain has been through hell and back. In the heat of the summer, I remember looking out onto that same mountain, standing amidst unbreathable air, planning a trip to some fresher air in the Sequoias, while the hillside burned and threatened hundreds of homes and lives. Now, that same mountain was before me, covered in a thick blanket of billowy white powder, just as peaceful as it was when it was under fire.

Can I stand to learn a lesson from the mountain who emerges virtually unchanged even through all the change done unto her? Could this be some sort of a sign to invite and allow miracles to occur in my life? Is this a cue to honor the poignancy of life and all that shows me love? Did the mountain in all her glory show me love that day? Because this is what I could feel: pure, unbiased, unadulterated love emanating from that hillside. As the rains came and took the filthy air from our atmosphere, it replaced it with this glowing reminder that nature's beauty, variance and unpredictability can express an incredible amount of crisp, cleansing, purifying love.

At that moment, I became once again proud of being a part of this glorious earth, turned my body upside down on the inversion board, meditated for the enormous shift my life was about to experience, and restarted my day.

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