It's EARLY Monday morning. It's dark, quiet and very still. Although I'm warm and my mind is busy, there is an awesome storm blowing, inches away from me, outside of the window. It's overwhelming. The snow and wind have stopped activity. Not even the snowplows are permitted to interfere with it's business. The shelter of my home separates me from this divine force. I'm in the middle of it, submitting to it's will. I just keep living...regardless of what is happening outside. It's chaos out there, but it doesn't have to be in here.
The chasm between the spiritual and the physical is far too obvious to me. The tug of war that the practical and the dreamy play is very distracting. Like a ping pong game dizzying my little mind. The darkness and cold of the winter months, the stealing away of vitamin D from my soul makes me think too much and I lose focus and rhythm. Dishes pile up, studying avoided and I start playing jazz. I don't even like jazz, but it seems appropriate. Beautiful instruments falling all over each other, trying to find their place. The sense of music battling noise. Even the singer is allowing the words to slop their notes into the air.
Until the magic of Spring touches the air, I will weather the jazz in my mind. Hold tight to the activity in my little home and not allow the dreams and 'druthers to distract and take over. If I miss too many beats, the song goes flat and it could be beautiful. Why waste a good song? I will hold onto the regular tempo of school, meals, cleaning and appointments and be thankful for their tune. The storm and sick days, as pauses in the song are there for a reason. Not to depress or suppress, but to give rest and reflection, prayer and love.
Should I continue wishing I could step outside into the calm and cheery summer colors? That will only make the immoveable winter even more an enemy. My job is to hold it together, continue life INSIDE for now. Find ways to enjoy white. Ignore the off note, and continue the melody by putting one fuzzy socked foot in front of the other. Do those dishes again, fold that scented laundry, open the books and exercise the mind. Make a hearty soup, snowshoe the cob webs out of my mind when given the chance, and sing the praises of the Season Changer. He is faithful. Spring will come, but I don't want to waste a season. Take the Jazz and make it a melody.