The red-wing blackbirds are back, always a sure sign of spring. The plushy snow means nothing, as April storms are too often the norm here.
Walking in the woods this morning I tried mightily to find that moment of light where it stops being night and becomes day – black turns to blue and the forest steps quietly out of a shroud – but I couldn’t, I can’t ever. Maybe tomorrow.
Thought of Jesus, too, and even talked to him out loud – picturing him alongside me, slipping over the ice, sploshing in the cold mud, arms thrown out for balance. Felt a great need not to be spiritual this morning, just walk without all the usual nonsense about translating salvation into enlightenment etc. Of course it didn’t work. But luckily Jesus was very patient with me, going on and on in that low voice of his that often sounds exactly like a river in Spring spate. I love you I love you I love you and so forth.
Tears these days – in others and in myself. Infectious for some reason that I’ll no doubt learn in time. Driving through the Jones Lot the other day and remembering the many pheasants I’ve terrorized through the years a new line from a dear and familiar character occurred to me, something like “farming has held my body up, but it is grief that has kept my mind sharp.” What does Al Pacino say in “Heat?” “I gotta hold on to my angst. I preserve it because I need it. It keeps me sharp. On the edge. Where I gotta be.”
Oh pish. Writing has always made me feel doomed. Meditating this morning I saw very clearly a dear friend in Paris, sitting quietly in a sunlit Zendo, and it made me very happy. Also, the crocuses are shooting up. And so forth.