Spring Equinox and a Return to Balance

It’s been more than two weeks since a fender bender impacted (pun intended) an otherwise placid day. I gathered the lessons and wrote about them last week, yet the experience continued to gnaw at me. Although my initial reflections stand, there was more to it than what I admitted, including a reminder to return to balance. This week, assisted by the wisdom of Oriah Mountain Dreamer, my beloved teacher, I unwrapped that experience further to get at what I didn’t want to look at.

No real harm was done, but I couldn’t ignore the unmistakable reminder to pay attention and focus on the course I’d committed to.

Last October, I entered a time of introspection, stillness, and relative solitude. Meditation, walks in nature, and other contemplative practices filled my day. Intuition told me that life was changing. Taking a cue from nature, it was time to hibernate, recharge, and prepare for whatever was next. To make room for the new, I had to leave space and stillness so I could hear.

It was very much like the months following my crash. The direction I expected my quest to head in had changed dramatically, but I couldn’t yet see where I was going. To let that become clear and see the road in front of me, I needed stillness (that time I had no choice) rather than movement.

As much as I thrive on interacting with people, I loved the deeper connection I felt with Spirit—when I left space. But old habits die hard. It’s easy to fall back into recognizable patterns during times of change. The familiar relieves the tension of waiting for things to evolve, for an answer to come.

Gradually I began doing more—blogging, newsletters, interacting on social media, attending two trade shows. I loved it all and it eased the tension of feeling I wasn’t doing anything. But all those activities take time and make me less available to listen and respond to Spirit.

Then, on the eve of virus craziness breaking out in my part of the world came the not-so-subtle fender-bender reminder that I was distracted from my task. It was as if I had received a gentle, yet attention-getting reminder to focus on the singular contemplative practice I’d committed to. That the external environment was about to break into a frenzy did not change the context of my task.

Further reflection also challenged my notion of what constitutes a contribution to the world. Our culture values achievement, action, and tangible results. Those are all fine, as long as they’re consistent with our inner guidance and leave us available to receive grace. There are many other, creative ways to contribute.

Spring Equinox reminds us that we need balance, just as we need the darkness and light. It prompts us to recognize the steadfast cycles of nature that continue regardless of what’s going on in the world.

To return to balance I’ll return to the more contemplative practice I committed to, writing and interacting far less—for now. Although I describe it as stillness, it’s far from a lack of action. It’s the place of insights, serendipity, and magic. Who knows where that will lead?

Photo credit: Theophilos on VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-ND