DSCF0023 (3)The lake has drawn down by this time to a small pool, stranded from the stream that now carves its way through the silt and muck. My friend informed me with much delight that she had spotted a dozen or so small turtles in that murky, algae laden pool, their heads poking out of the water, so I wandered that way late this afternoon to see if I might also spot them.

There is something, of course, about spring itself that delights. Each day now seems to bring something to life that wasn’t just yesterday. A blossom, a bird, a bud. An egg sack erupting with caterpillars, gelatinous mounds of fertile  frog eggs. Greenness itself pushing up through the soil, life poking its head through the water.

It has been six weeks since I began this practice. Half a season has passed! When I began the earth was buried in snow, a white unfolded blossom. This practice of paying attention each day and recording what I have seen has helped me to notice more keenly what takes place always, beneath my awareness, with or without my notice. Transformation is continually occurring. One day does not look like the next. Nor does one hour, one moment, one breath.

Sometimes I believe that nothing is changing, that I am stuck in this sameness, just waiting.  The word , wait,  conjures up images of no movement. However, for me, it also brings to mind remembrances of pregnancy. For so many months, day in and day out, especially in the beginning,  it can appear that nothing is happening,  even as the child in the womb, like the earth, is becoming new life. You can’t see it, hear it, touch it, feel it, it occurs in the dark. You must trust the mysterious processes of this earth body to make of the very air that it breathes and the the food that it eats, a child. Both beneath and outside of your conscious control, you can’t make the child grow faster, nor decide even how the child will be put together.

Impatience is not the same thing as waiting. Impatience implies frustration. And waiting is not the same thing as standing still, although stillness can help. Too often I distract myself from the miracle, unable to trust it or to stay with its constant truth, simply because I can’t see it. That is not waiting, either, for I think that waiting, though it doesn’t have to ‘do’ anything, trusts deeply that all is well.

Tomorrow, the head may emerge like the crown of a child, and if I am lucky, awake and  still watching, I’ll catch a glimpse before it dives back beneath the surface of my awareness again. That glimpse can be enough to fill me with delight, and with the assurance that this constant rebirthing/remaking/becoming is once again taking place within me…even if the stream of life seems to be passing me by in this silt laden, stagnant pool.



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