Winter’s grand gesture seems to be death, swallowed up in white dust. And yet, winter does not show us death’s doorstep. It shows us an incubation period vital to renewal. It begs us to retreat into the warm confines of our homes – tangible and intangible: physical and spiritual. Each moment we gaze upon our true selves, another layer we have created to coat it dies off. As we become more joyfully alive and free, therein lies phases of egoic deterioration. The small self dies small deaths until it no longer has the strength to reawaken. Defense and pain and resistance are the layers we must ask to release so we can fully live. And so winter shows us to this endless cycle where death is no longer perceived as an end, but a transitory beginning: a fresh start: another layer pealed: the flash of discomfort in emptied lungs before invigorating air is inhaled: a continental shift in the twirling affair of our metamorphosis.
Namaste, Laura Marie XO