Season of Thaw

We think we need to be hard, to build these layers around us, exoskeletons. Like a sign on the door to our childhood bedroom, KEEP OUT. That we won’t get hurt that way, that we can’t be crushed. That we maintain some semblance of control over this season of our lives.  

I’ve been feeling extra rigid lately. Usually it’s me putting up armor to avoid a feeling. To avoid naming a fear lying just below the surface. Maybe if I add more layers around me, more insulation, I won’t have to feel it, to face it.  

But the earth is in a season of thaw. Layers of snow built up over this winter are beginning to warm, to melt, to soften gently back into the earth, drawing nourishment for days of growth ahead.

To feel, to return to ourselves, requires gentleness, requires that we soften. That we give way, release, be porous. From that place of tenderness, compassion can begin to seep in, first towards ourselves, then slowly out into the rest of our community.

Instead of holding so tightly, where can I release? What can I allow to give way? Where can I draw nourishment, or how can I extend it to myself?

In this season of thaw, may we be willing to feel. May we soften. May we release.