This past weekend brought gifts of simple pleasures: laughter of little children, a warm amber fire, reading on a cozy couch and watching the falling white snow. We spent our days in a cabin in a remote forest where the loudest sound was the cadence of your own breath. As we drove toward our destination, our daughter noticed the falling snow and the patches of white that became more frequent as we got closer. “Momma, there is snow!” I can still recollect the purity of her excitement. On Saturday morning, she sled down patches of white hills, sipped some hot cocoa, and warmed up by the fireplace.
As I watched her, I looked outside the window and observed what looked like white icing falling from the sky. Because the temperatures weren’t cold enough, the snow didn’t stick. But there were intermittent snow showers and every time I caught myself looking at the white specks and I felt comforted by its presence. The feeling of peace that simmered with genuine joy. It wasn’t forced or contrived or coerced. I’ve detailed my struggles with meditation and how I can’t sit still or am unable to sit in a room Indian style and just meditate on my breath. Those exercises cause me to grip tighter to my own restlessness. What I’ve realized is my medium for meditation is nature, my observations and my interactions with it. A run in the morning with white rabbits prancing alongside of me or sitting in the comfort of the sun on a cold day or watching snow from my window.
I believe that meditation can be different for everyone. For too long, I held on to the belief that meditation can only happen sitting with your back straight and chanting to yourself in the quiet. Because I couldn’t do this without feeling the tremors of restlessness, I denied myself meditation in other ways. What I’ve learned is there is freedom in meditation. You are the only person that can define it for yourself.
For me, the falling snow was a revelation. I find the most comfort in the glory of nature and its movement.
Image by JeffK