water and air

I have a bunch o' embryonic blog posts still in draft form, consisting of titles with a few lines, or maybe just a word or two, trying to grasp the threads of a thought or image as it sails by. Little weightless kernels, dots of concentrated color, waiting for...? a little heat, a little light, a bit of moisture? So far, they look like this: "shabbat in the city of air", "between that which is holy and that which is not yet holy", "morning in the pardes", "sarvodaya, awakening on behalf of all", "white flame, seeds and fruit", and "the gordian knot and the leap of faith"

Currently I feel perfectly suspended between winter (which is now, according to the dark and the chill) and spring (which is soon, ready to fling itself open the moment the time is right, according to the fat buds on the rhododendron and the red poking-out stems of paeonia). 

Between pared-down-to-the-essence deeply quiet hibernation, and the quickening vibration of the swelling seed coat about to split, the sprout longing to sproing and unfurl. I'm reminded of the Hanged One in the Tarot, about which Vicki Noble writes: 

"Think of a spider suspended by its own silken substance, yielding in trust to gravity. You are suspended in time, right now...It definitely means "stop action" and "allow" to happen."

I think that this time offers the possibility of learning to surrender a little more, to become more patient and open-handed.

The other thing that occurs to me is how useful it can be during these times of feeling "up in the air" to spend some part of it immersed comfortably in warm water...