WHAT TIME IS IT ANYWAY?????

Happy Spring…Vernal Equinox…March 20th! I'm dressed in my greens just to remember the quality of the color…the hope…the promise of new life. Last night dropped another 12-14 inches of snow on us all…on top of the 16 inches that fell last Thursday, it makes for quite a heavy wet blanket of white. Last week the weight of it all got to me.  The maple trees are all tapped and in the past two weeks we've only collected a few gallons of sap. Usually by this time of the month, we've boiled and bottled a gallon of syrup at least. I've remarked that this winter of 2014 has been one of the meanest, coldest, iciest, snowiest winters ever and now that we are sliding into the last 10 days of March, I'm wondering if Mother Nature is going to offer up any sweetness in the form of maple syrup. One farmer explained that if the trees set bud before the sap runs, there won't be any sap season. So not only has she given us a winter of icy bones and cold shoulders, but she has refused us our sweetness ritual of spring. I haven't totally given up yet but the forecast for cold for the next week does not bode well for our efforts. Nothing we can do about it. I know the garden season is coming but there aren't any signs of spring to affirm my faith at this point. A double bouquet of Gerbera daisies tease my imagination with their vibrant reds and oranges. I am so grateful to myself for buying them on my way home from Mass. on Tuesday. This storm surprised us all. Most weather channels said we'd have 4-6 inches. No one predicted double that. Sometimes it seems there is no predicting. No peaking into the future…no telling ahead of time what is what. And perhaps that is for the best.

I sometimes wish I could know ahead of time when things are going to happen. I've always been drawn to predictive arts…tarot cards, astrology, palmistry, mediums…you name it. I yearn for foreknowledge but it's just a control issue. I have just returned from a nice visit with my Mom. She is holding her own at the Lafayette Nursing Home. She is very attuned to the present moment and in that moment has a great sense of humor and an interest in other folks that surround her. The truth remains…she isn't going to get better. And on this visit, she turned to me and said.."I'm ready to kick the bucket". The stunning honesty of that simple statement left me speechless. She also informed me that she needs to "line herself up in her sleep" so that she can make her exit while sleeping. God bless her. I hope she can accomplish that feat. At 89, I'd do whatever I could to help her achieve this goal. She used to insist she was going to die at home. When she moved to the nursing facility in August, she seemed to simply go with the flow. Her attachment to being home left her. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she could no longer live in her house with no first floor bathroom. Her days of climbing the stairs were over. She is grateful she doesn't have to get up and go to daycare every day. She still enjoys her activities and friends and visits, but her dream has changed. It had to. I don't know what happens for Death to choose his moment. I do know it has nothing to do with me..not her death anyway. And I wonder if we have any control over our own death. Might there be an element of will involved in the art of dying? I know shamanic cultures claim there is an element of will involved if we are able to train ourselves to let go as we live our lives…ever practicing for the moment when the crack between worlds begins to open and we are invited to step through…over the threshold from one reality to another. Ah but it all remains a mystery.

I know, when an egg is broken from the outside, there is loss of life…and when it opens from within, there is a beginning of life moving toward itself in a journey of growth and development. I know that under all this wet white snow, there is quickening underground as the light begins to work it's magic on the roots and creatures underground. Nature may seem heartless and cold…but she is only doing the work of the great mother…the work of life. Timing doesn't seem to be up to me and my clock…nope!
The great wheel turns in it's own time…and welcomes my complete surrender. Spring is happening beneath the appearance of white winter and she will come when she is ready. Mom is preparing herself for her final journey and despite her appearance of humor and enjoyment of life's simple pleasures, she is preparing for her journey into another form. The universe has it's own timing and the sooner I drop my agenda for when things should happen, the more likely I will be able to feel the deeper pulses…the rhythms of movement beneath the surface that tell the story of the birth, growth and death of life on this planet Earth. I am my mother…in so many ways. And yet I am essentially myself. Such a mystery.