It’s the middle of January, and we are sitting by the fire, enjoying a little less chaos in our lives. While we still have work to do, at least for now, the schedule is more flexible. We just need to complete certain tasks on a weekly basis, instead of a daily one. This affords us the time to plan, dream, and simply enjoy the company of friends and family. It is a luxury and consequence of the kind of work that we do.
After a little over three weeks, I notice that we have gained almost 23 minutes of daylight since the Winter Solstice. I am thankful for the lack of distractions that allows me to be aware of this. The sun is also crawling ever so slightly north every day. It will soon return in the company of songbirds. In the quiet of my morning meditation, I notice that the aches of summer in my body grow more dull with each day. I, like the world around me, am rejuvenating. My joints and muscles are healing. With renewal comes hope.
The world is still quiet, and while the silence can cause a yearning and create a sense of loneliness, it is only in solitude that one can hear truth. The Desiderata opens with the phrase:
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
To remember that peace, though, requires one to experience it in the first place. I am grateful for the gift of solitude given to me in the winter because it forces me to look inward. That shared experience with all life on the farm, can be profound. I see a rat scurry in the barn, and for a moment, I feel our connection. We are similar. We acknowledge each other, and the moment is poignant, for life is lived in the boundaries of these moments.
No future moment is ever guaranteed. Right now is all I can be assured to experience. What will I do with it? That answer must drive me to action today, and it must be my beacon in the noise and haste in the days that lie ahead. So, for today, I will listen to the message in the quiet, shared by the web of life that surrounds me, and find serenity granted to me in these moments of silence.
Hello Darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Within the sound of silence –Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel