As I sit by the fire in our warm soapstone wood stove, I hear and see wind through my window. Dry leaves piled up against the fence are easily ruffled and stirred as if gathered the arms of a giant, playful child and thrown joyfully into the air.
The leaves leap and twist, their jagged, crinkled shapes scatter in bursts before floating down in huge brown snow-like flakes.
Each gust rattles the house shutters against cedar siding, and trees outside my window stir, lean, tremble in whole body shudders. Once in a while a small branch takes flight, and slams against our bay window, my peripheral vision tracks it but not quickly enough to still a huge startle.
I think of the trees surrounding our house, surrounding the meadows I love, and I pray for the trees: stand firm my friends, hold tight to the ground; thank you for your roots. Roots remind me of the hyacinth on my bay window. Gazing at it's roots amazes me; both roots and bloom are equally beautiful! Yet there is something more intriguing about those luminous, luxurious roots. Roots usually hidden by dirt.
The roots captivated me long before the buds opened, glowing such a stunning white, long, entwined and flowing. Now that the flower is blooming, the aroma is sometimes overpowering. Often I move the vase to our cold mud room, to chill the fragrance, and give my nose a break. I do love the sight of the flower - it's reminder of spring in the dead of winter - but I wonder why the roots draw me even more than the flower. Perhaps they are symbolic of my own transitions, of putting down some new roots. What do my roots look like now? Am I beautifully, healthily grounded?
In these tumultuous times, where leaders bluster and posture like childish bullies, where much seems upside down and continuously changing, what grounds us? Love, family, community, faith, friends, deep wisdom, trust in our own beauty, our inner compass?
I love this story in Second Kings 19 of Elijah standing on a mountain, waiting for God.
"And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake;
and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice."
Elijah listened then, and heard his God.
The voice of Sophia Wisdom, the guidance of Infinite Love
is heard and experienced when we are willing to go deep, or be in stillness and silence.
The hyacinth bulb on my window sill has no place to call home, no spot of earth to stake; it sits isolated in a portable vase. Yet, the roots grow deep, grounded for a season within the glass, feeding the flower beautifully. The bulb has within itself the power to grow well. And along with my tender care and admiration, with sunshine and water it had enough community, enough 'home' to bloom where it was planted.
We all have within us the power to care for ourselves, to listen deeply to our own voices, to the still, small voice of Infinite Love. From that grounding point, we simply grow more beautiful, and wiser, and as we open to love and deeper interaction with others.
May you find new depth and tender stillness this year, amid all the confusing hubbub, and remain firmly planted. May your roots, your depth, your insides be as beautiful as your outside.
Sharon
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"Maybe you are searching among the branches for what only appears in the roots." Rumi
Job 14 1-17 For a tree there is always hope. Chop it down and it still has a chance— its roots can put out fresh sprouts. Even if its roots are old and gnarled, its stump long dormant, At the first whiff of water it comes to life, buds and grows like a sapling.
"Expectation is the root of all heartache." William Shakespeare (having too high expectations ....my experience!)
