A White Christmas
I’ve never been a big fan of snow. I don’t ski nor snowboard (God forbid), and the shoveling and travel hazards have been exhausting and scary. On the surface, snow is fraught with trials and tribulations. Walking my dog in the snow has resulted in several butt surfing episodes that are ever more daunting in my 60s. He looks at me after a slip and fall as if to say, “And you think it’s smart to walk on two legs?!” But even I, The Snow Grinch, have come to appreciate a few things about the white stuff.
When the light hits new snow, there are myriads of tiny reflections coming from each of the trillions of flakes. If you look really closely you can see the unique hexagonal forms comprising the mass of white. Sort of like we humans who resemble a crowd at first glance, then each having a complex tangle of DNA and experiences that make us incredibly unique while being “one.”
I was wondering why a “White Christmas” is particularly appealing. Maybe it’s an excuse to stay put, not run around from mall to party, back to mall? At this time of year, the inner longing for time with ourselves is drowned out by the need to look engaged and celebratory. We reject our own company and then try to make up for that rejection by being invited and accepted by others. Yet, because the true need is for an inner peace we can be left exhausted and depressed. We make the classic error of searching “out there” for what is only available “in here.”
Rosanne, The Snow Grinch then dug a little deeper… I came up with a vision of the silent blanket of white frosting on every surface quieting the outer noise. Snow creates the stillness and the repose of every living thing. I saw in my mind’s eye the emphatic white articulation of branches and bushes, rooftops and fences. Stillness and quiet.
The holidays at this time of year all seem to celebrate light in the darkness, charity and universal love, self-accountability and purification. These objectives seem to invite us in as well as “out.”
We humans tend to be noise makers. We create explosions, blow horns and holler at midnight of a New Year dawning, play loud music and seem to create lots of movement. We build hard surfaces that amplify noise and interfere with the calming of sound and energy. We talk too much and say too little. We tend to dread stillness because it exposes what is unfinished within us. Much of what is communicated through love comes in quiet moments.
I still don’t particularly look forward to Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride on snowy roads, but I will wish you a “White Christmas” with or without snow. If there is no snow, no literal outer blanket of stillness to embrace you, may you find it within yourself. May the “still, quiet voice” whisper that all is well and may we all “sleep [and live] in heavenly peace.”
Rosanne (aka, “The Snow Grinch”)