One week after attacks in Paris reminded us of deep divisions, pain and culture clashes, early snow began to fall here in large flakes, slowly at first, but then, as if to assert a larger idea of holding everything, a thick blanket was everywhere.  The roads were still and impassible.  Twenty four hours of Nature speaking and the landscape was still, picturesque, asking for simple wonder, as the light of sunset fell over distant trees to reveal mysteries of beauty in contrast.  Hold.  Stop there.  Have patience.  

If only the external mirrored the internal automatically, without thoughts and actions in between.  But that, apparently, is not the plight of the journeying pilgrim, the one who seeks to find the third way, to awaken, to replace effort with allowing.   Practice is required daily.  Living on the farm and in town in alternating ways could be seen as balance, or, more accurately sometimes, as a ping pong ball going from world to world.  I am challenged to hold both all the time.   I am not naturally good at this.  I would almost rather be away there or in the woods all the time because Nature is a higher place, where the veil is lifted all the time, let’s face it.  To muddle in the world, for everyone, practice is required.  Bringing the Light of a country sunset in to the bustling town or court room, might be important.  Bringing the knowledge of conflict and opposition and the intentional work of Compassion to the countryside to be renewed as with seeds being set in soil, leaves dropping for mulch in next year’s garden, could be key.  Not in or out, not right or left, not oppositional.  The sunset is universal.  Hold.  Have Patience.