When the Cold is Warm
When the wind is absent, I sense the delicacy of winter, like a piece of soft silk carefully wrapping my face, or a snowflake silently melting in my palm. This coldness practices in its timid voice, afraid of its power to awaken the sleepers inside. With a gust, it hears its calling to shout forth, like boiling water knowing its journey to vast air. I wonder what else the wind delivers ahead: singing the song of deep winter, conjuring hope home.
I love it when the cold is warm. I love the hug of snow and its invitation to silence. I love soft things moving from luxury to necessity. I love the release of entering a warm room from the cold, and the stimulation of crisp air that holds tight to the body. I love this closeness I feel beyond things, to people and objects I cherish. I love it when the cold is warm.
Balance finds itself throughout time, and passes itself on in our personal and collective memory. There is wisdom hanging from the trees, even if at times it is just lights for the dark. In this season of isolation, there is joy of solitude, opportunity of contemplation, and deepened awareness of connection and community. With absence, presence transforms. I hear now wonderings of my subtle senses, and I ask them kindly to hum loud and bright in this quiet dark.
Sweet silence arises with us all, singing stillness into mornings. Holding hands, we walk into the day, listening to wordless wisdom. Soft sensations tell me a story, of the cold floor through socked feet, of the kingdom of plants through the texture of my towel, of construction and elevation through the whispers of the walls. I seek in silence an unspeaking myth. Unwrapping fingers of these held hands, I flow into letting go, holding instead this new space, cleared by presence and created by absence.
This quiet bright of snow illuminates our turning of seasons, our tip of time, our great song’s rhythm and rhyme. As the universe renews its stars, as morning shifts to day, and as day hastens into the long night, one verse stays still: I love it when the cold is warm. I love it when the cold is warm.
From Our Oracles
The generative property of earth. Retreating home from war, not in defeat, but in responsibility for the home –retreating from the mistaken ideas of guilt and culprits. Rest in reflection, and in recognition that there is no harmonic guilt, and that shame is just another mask of guilt. Our own guilt only invites others to manipulate us. Regret, however, when utilized as energy to eliminate internal mistaken ideas, can facilitate transformation. Releasing self-images and identification with qualifications does not make us loose ourselves, but instead brings us closer to our self. It is in the invisible world and the inner world, which the ego dismisses as trite or fanciful, where our mark is made. The ego is not our animal desires, or other’s acting like animals, but instead that which blames animal nature. Recognize that assigning a culprit creates guilt. Tend instead to the inner garden.
Some Sound
We’re trying something new this month — a 17 minute bowl + chime recording.
Some Happenings
Adrian will be starting a 90 minute weekly breathwork + sound meditation experience, at 7:45 at Happie Space. The practice is a great way to explore expanded states of consciousness, in a safe container, supported by deep rhythmic breathing and blissful meditative sounds. The experience aids in releasing stress, letting go of intrusive thoughts, and connecting with inner wisdom.
In addition we will be hosting a sound ceremony in Brooklyn at the end of February. If this is a practice you are curious about or interested in, let us know.
Some Links
🌆 Sounds of Mumbai and Noisy Brussels
🎶 The Music Lesson by bassist Victor L. Wooten. A beautiful parable of music and life.
🎨 Album Cover Artwork Was Super Boring before Alex Steinweiss
⛲️ Radio garden invites you to tune into thousands of live radio stations across the globe.
We’ve been listening to:
The Collective by Morten Granau
Rāg Jainjhoṯī by Ronu Majumdar & Abhijit Banerjee
Yemen by Erkan Oğur & Djivan Gasparyan
Some Words
Missing muse from last I felt Knelt by your side and cried Rejuvenated by melt Of worry and fear And the rise of warmth and cheer Clear As sunlight unobscured Now lost to my sea I adrift Missing muse I chose To hear you once more