Sitting by my window…

Written by on January 2, 2014 in Conversations on the Healing Journey with 0 Comments

From Flight of Phoenix FB Page


Sitting by my window, watching the snow fall…soon the ground will be covered in white and I, blanketed in that odd feeling of safety, will have nowhere to go but to my self. I cannot get out and nothing can get in.

Time stops for me when I am at home and the snow falls. Suddenly I am set free from all those things I have to do, places I have to be, bills I have to pay, obligations I have to meet. For just this moment, each snowflake gives me a gift I cannot seem to give myself — the right to just be in the present moment.

The snow is getting bigger. A low wind makes them enter my visual path at an angle as they fall to their spot. They do not struggle with this. They do not seem afraid to lose their individuality.

No two snowflakes are alike, it is said. Look how easily they let that go as they join together on whatever surface Fate sends to meet them.

Oh, if I could only be so brave!

Funny, how my eyes spy little pockets of turbulence among the falling snow, and instead of rushing to meet the earth or railing or branch, they dance suspended in air, jump and leap in place, swirling like crystallized dervishes among the others so focused in their trajectory.

It’s such a celebratory dance I want to join in as I sit on this side of the window. I watch their delightful defiance, and then as if on cue they dart again toward the ground.

It all ends there, becoming part of something greater, a larger whole. But it doesn’t mean you can’t dance on the way. Does the snowflake know it will become part of a blanket that covers the earth? Does it comprehend that it has the power to resurrect a sense of well being in someone like me?

Can I know what difference I may make by being true to who I am, by trusting the path that is my life?

No two alike.

And yet each one of us is a part of something greater, becoming and shaping at the same time. Do any of us have to know the ultimate effect before giving ourselves permission to fall powerfully or dance defiantly?

Someone is teaching me something here…do I truly believe that or am I delusional?

But then does it matter what I think as long as what I think inspires me to love a little more, care a little deeper, dream a little longer or dance a little wilder?

I like to think this moment — falling snow creating something almost sacred — will continue to live in me when it stops and the sun changes the landscape. I will take this moment and keep it. Not in the warm summers of my heart, but in the sharp winter clarity of my mind and vision. Nothing is as shockingly blue or richly gray, no silhouette as etched against a canvas sky like that of winter.

I want to see clearly like that.

Soon the snow will vanish from my sight, and all I see will be dark. But the snow will still be dancing. Long after my eyes can no longer see, I will sit by this window and hear the music.

Will I dance? From this side of the window, from this point in my life will I take the chance?

When I was younger, I went out into a fierce storm and danced in the middle of a field with the clap of thunder and howling winds, surrounded by trees that danced as wildly as I did. Not my smartest move, but one that I will always remember…

Now that I am older, I want to dance with the snow…more softly, more whispering, less shouting. But no less powerful. Rare is the summer storm that can halt an entire city. But snow, even with an army of trucks to challenge it, can accomplish it with ease.

Tonight, leave the snow shovel in the garage. Hold off on the ice melt. Something is being whispered to you.

I lean closer to the window. I listen, and without knowing why, I smile.

Demian Yumei


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About the Author

About the Author: Demian Yumei, author, singer/songwriter and artist activist, using spoken, written word and original songs in her human rights activism. Demian is a traveler on the healing journey with a lifelong love affair with the creative process. .


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