Meditating outdoors in winter offers both challenges and surprises.
One chilly morning, I sat huddled under a brown blanket. Beneath this cover, additional layers secured my warmth: wool pants, heavy coat, toque and gloves. Perched on the rocky shores of Lake Superior, I greeted the Earth’s faithful star. Silvery slow waters took on the appearance of mercury, a sure sign of the Lake’s pending transformation into solid state.
Still as a statue and enveloped in warmth, I opened all senses to receive life. Simply breathing. Simply being. The gentle sounds of thick water lulled me into ever-deeper stillness; only an occasional puff of frosted exhale alerted others to my presence.
Amidst this tranquility, a flock of Pine Siskins burst into my reverie. Suddenly the air felt electric with sound. In rapid succession, high-pitched, ascending ZEEEET ZEEEET ZEEEET calls spilled out their tiny beaks. How I wished that I spoke “siskin”: I wanted to get in on the juicy gossip being bantered to and fro as the birds searched for food. I envied their keen eyesight: where I saw nothing, they found sustenance.
Did I mention the Siskins wore nothing but feathers? How did these petite northern birds survive the cold? Sure, there is a scientific answer, but no theory could replace the awe of witnessing their cheery exuberance despite seemingly fragile attire.
Basking in wonder, my delight heightened when several birds landed on my blanketed head. Awe and calmness transmuted human into rock, if only for a brief moment in time. How sweet to feel fully accepted into the weave of the wild.
Then away the entire flock flew, onward into their day, leaving me alone with the silver silence and a dream of becoming rock again someday.