March 17, 2006
Last week we had a snow day... I stayed home and just watched the snow falling - sometimes small flakes, and sometimes huge ones. It was so beautiful. Occasionally a tree bough burst from the weight, and suddenly dropped a load of snow onto the ground. Through the day I enjoyed watching the flakes fluttering down outside my windows, and observing for animal tracks through the snow and the birds at the feeder. Most of all, however, I enjoyed the great silence that accompanies a snowy day.
There is not only a great silence in the snow, but also a spaciousness... spaciousness surrounds each snowflake, and outlines the horizon as well as each small heap of snow. With the snow falling, and the jumping of the tree boughs, it is as though there is a symphony playing, with movement and dance, yet it can barely be heard. This silent spaciousness is inside of us, too. Between each thought and each movement, a great spaciousness exists. And in this spaciousness, we are silent. I sense the awakening of an alert presence in this silence, both outside my window and inside of me, too. There is a silent field underneath the words, underneath the snow, between the snowflakes. There are gaps here in which a great stillness is present. Stillness is here. So deep and so vast and so rich.