Velocity & the Spring Melt Down

"You must learn to be still in the midst of activity and to be vibrantly alive in repose." -Indira Ghandi

I think about the tension between velocity and stagnation, stillness and vibrancy, as I look at the pool of water at the foot of my deck stairs.  One moment a pool of mucky wetness catching the leaves, dirt, and shit that lay waiting beneath the winter's snow. The next moment a frozen layer trapping all those leaves, dirt, and shit. There has been an ongoing cycle of melting and freezing at that spot that marks the threshold of my backyard.  One moment I wonder what can possibly be alive beneath that frozen layer.  The next moment I wonder how all that thick and heavy fecundity can possibly be the source of something beautiful and fresh. 

"It is satisfying to be active. Taking ourselves out of our comfort zone in small ways can lead to a sense of purpose and hope."       --Julia Cameron 

My pendulum can swing dramatically between exhaustion and stagnation, which often keeps me from finding that steady and focused energy that is so important to creativity and joy.  I am finding it more often, but I do find slippage into anxious fear.  Yet I have found ways to take my activity out of my comfort zone.  From leading colleagues in ways I never imagined, to speaking hard truths that in the past would leave me paralyzed and miserable. But I faced a lot this week and as I look at the tree in my back yard, standing strong through the wind, cold and other elements, I recognize the beauty and strength of nature. I at once envy and strive for that way of being.  The tree looks dormant and brittle, but not fragile.  It is waiting.  Just waiting for the right moment to once again reveal its beauty to me. 


The ancient masters were subtle, mysterious, profound, responsive.
The depth of their knowledge is unfathomable.
Because it is unfathomable,
All we can do is describe their appearance.
Watchful, like men crossing a winter stream.
Alert, like men aware of danger.
Courteous, like visiting guests.
Yielding, like ice about to melt.
Simple, like uncarved blocks of wood.
Hollow, like caves.
Opaque, like muddy pools.

Who can wait quietly while the mud settles?
Who can remain still until the moment of action?
Observers of the Tao do not seek fulfilment.
Not seeking fulfillment, they are not swayed by desire for change.  --Tao Teh Ching, Chapter 15

Reading the Tao Teh Ching this morning, this passage seemed appropriate to the spring swing of weather. Waiting, patiently for the me and the world to come to fruition.  Patience has never been easy for me.  I want to do.  I want it done.  I want to fix. I want it fixed.  But words like yielding and stillness seem to be resonating deeply for me right now.  Even as they scare me. The refrozen space at the bottom of my deck once again reminds me that the melting and freezing needs a few more rounds.  I need a bit more time.  I need patience.  I need to stay vibrantly alive in my stillness.  To do that. To stay vibrantly alive, I need to feel and I need to observe the spaces of discomfort that move in and out of my body and emotional life.