Every year about this time I get a feeling I can only describe as a jittery pause. It’s that place between winter and spring, where I feel spacious and bright one moment, caged in the next. Like a seed getting ready to sprout, but it’s not quite time. I must wait, but my eagerness to burst into the light has me feeling edgy. Living in the time of Covid certainly hasn’t helped.
Mirroring my feelings have been the animals who have crossed my path this week. First, two does feasting under my bird feeder who jerked their heads up when I quietly opened the back door, then stood like slightly quivering statues, ready to bolt if need be. Then a hawk on top of the chicken coop who, becoming aware of my presence, flew into a tree and locked eyes with me for several seconds then surged into the sky, wings fully outstretched. And finally, the tiny lone moth flitting about my dining room, whose wingbeats suspended it in space when it found the light fixture. All of this energy! With glorious glimpses of pause.
We used our bodies to practice this kind of suspended moment in my yoga class this morning, inhaling until we could take in no more air, pausing for a beat or two, then exhaling until we had no air left, and pausing again. We sought to discover the fruit of that instant where we hover in timelessness. Perfect golden stillness.
What an important lesson for me about waiting. There is abundance in the pause, wisdom to be found, but only when I release into the stillness, mining it for every truth it offers. When I fight it, I lose the treasure.
I will take this lesson with me into the remainder of my week, welcoming opportunities to pause, if even for a moment. And in that space, I will gather the nourishment that will support my blooming into the fullest version of myself.