Boy...this week has been a cold shoulder from ole Mother Nature and the sap run has slowed to a crawl. We've been sittin on a boil for the past 3 days...well, Stevo has been on the boil and I've been ice-packing my knee. On Thursday morning I got up early and took the pup out to do her business. There was a slight coat of snow over everything and I was feeling like I might get on my skis a few more times before the season finishes. But timing wasn't favorable and as Sadie took off after a blowing Oak leaf, I stepped on the garage pad and found it was covered with black ice and wham...I was down and my injury is taking me out for another round. I feel like a child. My racing is done, and snowshoeing with the pup is done. My plans to sit for hours with Stephen simmering our plans for the upcoming spring and summer have yielded to sitting alone on a recliner with my knee packed with ice feeling sorry for myself. This time, when I fell, the pain in my knee took the lid off all my bottled up grief and I cried like a baby while Sadie tried to figure what the heck was going on. I'll tell you whats going on. The whole damn universe is telling me to slow down...just the way I harp on Stevo for driving with a lead foot. Karmic kickback. So for days now, between Priscilla's passing and my wounded knee, my brain has been telling me how dissappointed I am in myself. I seem to ride on a merry-go-round of self destructive thoughts. But something is different. I've always been my own worst critic. If my friend was telling me what weighs heavy on her heart, I would tell her not to believe any of those repetitive old tapes. I would remind her of some of her best moments and downplay the injury. I'd tell her not to listen to that crap. Yet here I am in my own company, not only listening to the whiny negative crap...but actually believing it. Wow. And doing it while Stephen is busy boiling down the maple sweet sap of the first run of the year. The boiling of the sap is such a great spring ritual. You have to stop and sit in the sun and watch that the boil doesn't burn or overflow and you have to keep adding sap until you've rendered all the collected gallons into gold sweet syrup. While sitting there, we like to talk about our yet unfullfilled dreams and wished for plans. It kind of goes with the rendering essence process. After zipping around on skis all winter, it slows us down so we are better ready to notice the simple signs of spring that put wings on my heart...the return of the birds. Something old has loosened and seems to be falling away. I am aware of the hum of my negative tapes and their comforting familiarity. I see that I have chosen to listen and believe them and that in doing so, I have been cold and unfriendly to my self. The bite of the cold stops the flow of the sweetness...stops it dead.
Today, I don't want to listen to all the ways I've dissappointed myself. I don't have time for it and quite frankly, I don't believe it deep down inside. I didn't knock myself out on purpose. And I didn't beat myself to a pulp either. There is really nothing to stop me from sitting with Stephen by the boil and being a part of rendering sweetness. The only thing getting in my way is me. There is a two-fold lesson to be learned here. One is to seize the moment and choose again. When confronted with your old shit...throw it in the compost and let it fertilize the next cycle of growth. You don't have to eat it. The other part of the lesson is to loosen the ground and prepare it for recieving what is new and worthy of love and attention. This means that you have to be able to listen to the beautiful songs of self praise before you can learn to believe them. You can't keep pushing away what is loving and beautiful and true...and if you do, you just starve yourself. I feel like a bear. Ive been hiding in my cave all winter and now I'm awake...and damn...I'm hungry. Am I going to run out and eat shit? No. No sirree. I'm gonna have some of that newly made syrup...the sweet golden wisdom of the Sugar Maple and I'm going to start listening to a new rhythm and refrain. I've slowed down. I can choose more wisely. This year, I can unbury my heart ...thanks to my wounded knee...and my teacher...the tree.
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