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Last night, as I stood under the stars, the waxing crescent moon caught my eye. Over the next 10 days, its light will steadily grow until it is high in the sky illuminating the midnight field as if it were twilight. In that same period of time, I imagine the snow and ice will continue their slow and steady melt.

The signs of spring are clear. The eaves of the roof are dripping steadily. In the morning, the smell of the skunk who passed in the night lingers and the early birds declare their presence persistently. The critters are stirring. It is no wonder that I am stirring too.

I am a lover of light. My body is fully aware that we are nearing the spring equinox. The current cycle of the moon amplifies that recognition. Longer, brighter, warmer days infuse my body with energy, my mind with creativity, and my heart with gratitude. Bright moonlit nights encourage me to linger on my evening walk.

While the light is growing, the darkness is receding. There is a gentle gestation that can only happen under the shroud of darkness and the deep contemplative, hibernation of winter. It is hard to simply let go of the safety and comfort of the dark cave that has held and nurtured me through the last few long months. But when I honor it and give thanks for it, I can hold both the shrinking, dark coolness and the expanding bright warmth with equal appreciation.

As I approach the last three months of my interfaith ministry program with ChIME, I am reminded to remain present. The present moment is the only time and place to experience the fullness of life’s offering. There is abundant beauty, love and learning in each moment. I feel them each deeply when I attend to the reality that each moment contains that delicate balance between light and dark, ending and beginning.

I am part

Rising with the sun

Falling with the rain

Unfolding with the crocus

Waning with the moon

Dying with the leaves.

I am whole

Spreading light and heat

Weeping tears on hardpan ground

Holding lightly to beauty and hope

Contracting into darkness

Withering in despair before

Rising in hope once again.

This morning, as every morning, I took our dog, Karma, for a walk just a few minutes before it was time to warm up the car for the drive to school. I am often tempted to abbreviate this walk, urged along by the cold air on my face and the sense of urgency that can accompany the last 15 minutes before departure. Today, however, I was glad to walk the whole loop. Something needed to be explored. Karma felt it too, pausing longer than usual to smell clumps of grass peeking out of the snowy patches. Coyotes, foxes, deer, and turkeys often come through the field, but the snow is so crusty and icy right now that they don’t leave footprints. Without the footprints, I don’t see evidence of their passing, but they leave behind a scent for Karma to discover. In one spot, she caught the scent of something buried below the icy snow. She stopped to scratch and sniff. Not finding it, she scratched and sniffed again, and again… She made it through the snow and to the dirt, but whatever she smelled remained elusive. Something enticing was there, just beyond her nose and invisible to me, but it was clearly there.

Later this morning, I gathered with a group from Renewal in the Wilderness to celebrate Imbolc, the midwinter observance between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. I thought of Karma as we acknowledged the Quickening, the returning light. The growing light awakens a subtle energy in all living beings. It had definitely stirred Karma and I sense it in myself as well. The lengthening days invite inspiration and the crisp, cold days invigorate while dark, cold nights nurture the dormancy which births creativity. I sense it in the Earth. Can we sense it in one another? Most importantly, can we give ourselves over to it and live into it even more fully?

Imbolc’s invitation to become aware of my own seasonal awakening feels like an invitation to affirm the natural rhythm of my life. I often experience my cycles of energy and fatigue as outcomes of my life and only occasionally remember that they also flow naturally with rhythms of days, seasons and years. This morning, I realized that stepping into those rhythms with greater intention honors my whole-hearted, whole bodied participation in the cycle of life. I want to dwell more fully in that participation.

I recently read that the Buddha’s life followed a very deliberate pattern of withdrawal and return.

The Buddha withdrew for six years, then returned for forty-five years. But each year was likewise divided: nine months in the world, followed by a three-month retreat with his monks during the rainy season. His daily cycle, too, was patterned to this mold. His public hours were long, but three times a day, he withdrew, to return his attention (through meditation) to its sacred source.                                         — from The World’s Religions by Huston Smith

This apparent seesaw between withdrawal and return (rest and exertion, struggle and acceptance…) creates a delicate balance. A harmony is achieved by making intentional space for both the effort and the retreat. This feels like a true and heartening counterbalance to the cultural message to continuously achieve, produce and consume. While I would not attempt to emulate the Buddha’s life practice specifically, it offers an aspirational example. Karma was also leading by example this morning. The hearty souls who joined Renewal in The Wilderness to nourish their spirits with a celebration and a walk in the woods also show the way.

There is balance in the dance between light and shadow, giving and receiving, waking and sleeping. At this mid-winter, I will embrace the always shifting cycles within and around me with renewed gratitude and appreciation for both the waxing and the waning. And, whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not tomorrow, I will be paying attention to the stirrings of the new day.