Winter as Great Mother

I think I've always resisted winter, at least for as long as I can remember. Even though I embraced the cold by going skiing, hiking, running, and ice skating, I was always resisting the spiritual meaning of winter. The heart of it. The deep, dark, slowness of it. The invitation to go inside and sit still with myself — that part, I resisted.

Something feels different this year. I can feel something gestating inside me, like a new life waiting to be born. Sometimes it kicks, or makes itself known through the faintest glimpse of what is to come, but mostly it is just there, growing. I am heavy with its weight, but not in the usual sense of heaviness weighing one down. I am aware of the sacred moment that I am in — this period of quiet, of slowness, of gestation, which will not last forever. There will be moments of intensity, of action, of birth, when this new life comes forward into the next phase. But for now...

I sit quietly

holding myself

as I hold space for this

newness

thought rises

then falls away

swells of anticipation

emotion moving

energy moving

then quiet

snow-dampened

peaceful

branches bowed

with the weight of

winter's

invitation:

grow, my child

I will hold you

safe and warm amongst the cold winds

and when you emerge

glorious life will spring forward

from you

into the world.