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Morning of Winter Solstice

At the end of this longest darkness I see you and remember who I am.

Not able to tell if the day starts with snowflakes floating or fog resting; fingers fumble to write.

The window is a stoic wall.  My heart is the window.

In the safety of this sacred space I am learning to open.

Genghis Khan no longer holds the mic.

First shaking off the astral dust of last night’s dreams.  Attempting to make sense of what remains.

A dried sea sponge in need of your salty water, I taste you. Soak me. Fill me. Expand me beyond form.

My house of mirrors is too dark to see in Brahma Muhurat. Pure fire strength only reflects light.

Follow the flame inward and know my outward appearance.

Purity comes in self practice.

Before warm colors splatter the sky always the question – how can I be better today than yesterday?

Namaste, Megan

Growth

Living on a lake in the midwest is a sensuous experience. It is not as much about the sight or touch of the water as it is the sound. The softness of waves hitting the seawall create the perfect accompaniment to crickets in the summertime. But it is the groan of winter water that talks with intent.

In the early hours, my eyes are closed.  Without a moon, it is too dark to see the still gleam of the ice anyway. Everything in the outside world seems useless and dead asleep; storing energy for the rebirth of spring.

Consciously feeling my body and breath, I eventually all together forget where I am.  Until the rhythm of nature offers its daily lesson.  The lake wakes in a fitful dream.  Lacking the snow to muffle it, its voice continually carries out at different decibels and pitches. First, a soft explosion, then some scratchy cries followed by eerie moans of pain. I smile as I realize, it is teaching me what it feels like to expand.