The Spaces Between Doing and Being

Hello fellow Earthlings,

I woke up this morning with the awareness that the Earth was covered in a blanket of snow. Everything on the Earth was very still. I couldn't see it, but I could sense it and I knew. I walked through the dark hallway to the living room and pulled open the blinds that confirmed my thoughts. A deer stood there in the snow staring at me. They seem to come all the time now and very close to the house. We locked eyes for what seemed like a few minutes before it began munching on grass that poked through the snow. Then, all of a sudden, as if it had been called by something in the wind, it turned and walked across the golf course leaving fresh hoof prints in the otherwise untouched blanket of white. It didn't walk in a straight line. It created a curvy pathway back to the bushes on the edge of the golf course. The curves were perfectly symmetrical, almost as if the snow was cut with a cookie cutter of waves. As the morning moved along, those hoof prints became deep grooves that left a mark. It was just one squiggle on a blank page of white. It was an invitation to pause before I began to write.

And it seemed like every time I wanted to write, the moment pulled me in again.

It's now evening. I fired up the sauna on the deck. When I plug it in, lights and music come on. I waited until it reached 105 degrees before I got in. I sat in there and drank lemon water and journaled. What a luxury to be out here alone to write and prepare my online class for the college. How fortunate to have this blank canvas to create. I breathed in the dry cedar and let it warm me to the bone. After an hour I came out and my deer friend was sitting on a snowy hill in the dark, legs gently tucked under her, staring at me through soft snowflakes that swirled around before they found a suitable place to land.

I turned off the sauna. One button shuts off the whole machine, heat music, lights and all. It was me and the deer in the dark. I started to feel a chill enter my body standing there now with snow all around and I hurried inside to warm up. I immediately went and showered and pulled on a pair of sweats, wool socks, a t-shirt, cashmere sweater and and my favorite lambswool scarf that I got on a trip to New Zealand a few years ago.

Earlier in the day,  I walked out to Graysmarsh Beach to the eagle totem pole and walked further out on to the frigid beach with blue glacier-like water. It was so cold that even the seagulls took shelter on a nearby neighborhood street. I stared out past the water to the snowy banks of land dotted with houses that were also covered in snow. So quiet. I could smell cedar burning in wood stoves and it warmed me inside to know that people were snug in their own spaces.

On the way back, a few cars wandered down Woodcock Road. The roads were pretty clear and I imagined people were going about their day regardless of the weather conditions. I suppose I could have scraped the snow from my car and made it down to the post office to send off some bills and letters, but I felt like everything on the planet was calling me to stop. So I did.

I keep trying to understand what I am meant to do. I keep trying to grab a hold of a thread or a clue or a sign. I created a list to keep me on task, but the moments unfold on their own. If everything is planned, I miss what's right here.

Right.
Here.

I did knock some things off that list. I prepared my online class, did a load of laundry, emailed a few people. But between each task, there's a huge pause. Even typing these words feels a bit like wading through molasses. Even if I want my fingers to flutter across the keys, they don't. Maybe I meant to find the answers in the spaces between doing and being.