This is the season of Winter. The memory of all my past selves flicker in the theatre of my mind, and I lay eyes on a version of myself, I scarcely remember. Scared, and vulnerable. Fighting blindly, willfully, for a life better lived. How could there be so much beauty in this breakdown? • A classmate left us all with a blessing, and the Spirit of it I want to share with you now in the midst of your own season of Winter, whether that finds you now or further along the road. • May you draw deep into yourself, like seeds waiting for the snow to melt. A time where you lean upon the reserves of your storehouses built up from summers and springs past. May all the things that haunt you, fade back into their shadows, as you allow yourself the chance to sleep…perchance, my friend, to dream. To use this season of quiet, and solitude, to remind you of yourself, and all the versions of you, which have led you to where you rest now. You have been hurt, and you have fallen a part. But I know there is a version of you yet, which waits upon the horizon, if you only measure your breath, as you measure your steps. If only you are not afraid of the dark, and the company of your own self. Endless summers are fantasies, and I know your skin longs for the brightness which burns away the excess of the things too dark to touch, but there is a season for everything, and it’s long denial cannot linger longer. Whisper to yourself, “courage, dear heart,” and I know it will be true. You will emerge from this wintery cocoon healed, and whole, if you only allow yourself the chance the vulnerability of the falling away of the calcified bits which were never really you anyway. This is the season of Death—let dying things finally fade away. There is an invincible, indomitable spring which awaits you, just dream a little longer, my friend.
