To Repair Our Lives - Mid-February 2021

February 15, 2021

A Basin of Water

It is so cold the eggs crack in the hen house.

It is so cold that on our morning walk Lady Chaga-Dog pathetically holds up her cold paw, refusing to set it back down on icy road.

It is so cold that sea smoke rises from lake to sky. A beautiful eerie visual of water and air seeking balance -- equilibrium of temperatures.

Water: liquid becomes vapor, becomes ice. The Great Lake plays out its fierce magnificent drama... and teachings.

We have a hauling-water, hauling-firewood life. Every morning I heat water for household use. I allow the steam to drift over my face, to open thirsty pores, to soften my skin, my schedule-bound mouth, ...me.

The woodfired air is hard on skin. The winter elements are hard on skin and spirit. Shoulders hunch, spine stiffens, fists tighten to brace against cutting winds, falls on ice, and the energy spent to stay upright and alive during a polar vortex. This brittle hardening can settle into the soul.

At winter's start I mentioned to a nurse practitioner the bloom and deepening of wrinkles on my face (though I'm certainly of a season in life to be rich in creases and furrows!).

Her first question: "Do you heat with a wood stove? That will dry you out."

Me: "Yes."

Wise One: "So just set out bowls of water."

Me: "Oh, we humidify with an iron basin of water atop the hot wood stove."

Wise One: "Just set out a few more bowls of water anywhere. They'll change the air - soften your skin."

So around me a giant Lake Superior basin impacts sky; small bowls invisibly impact the atmosphere of my home and all that lives, and moves and has our being herein.

The sea smoke does not rise from the hard ice plates that skim portions of the lake surface. The spirit-dance rises from the expanses of open water.

What if we might simply stand, lie, be -- bowls of water changing the air, our surroundings and all that move and dwell therein?

It does not happen when we are hard, sharp and frozen. Maybe we must soften the rigid guardedness, the protective armor body and soul employ for these seasons of -30 windchill, threats of violence, statements of hatred and fear, and difference of opinion.

Maybe we dance alone, with friends, with strangers, dog, light, hen-song. Maybe we deep-breathe alone, with friends, with strangers. Maybe we sing or we stand still. Maybe we pull close to the fire or turn our faces to the sun. Or we walk and marvel; or listen to the laughter of distanced friends; or find poems. Maybe we share something sweet with someone we don't understand. Maybe we honor our tears and the too-many gone too-soon, for too-many horrible reasons. (Prayer - all of these.)

Maybe then, we are surprised by the reparation of ourselves -- our softness, our fluidity; and we invisibly ease something into the air that repairs the hard creased places.

rmlaroche©2021

www.DiasporaOnMadeline.com