“HATE” is a strong word. I rarely use it, although today as I get older, “I HATE being cold.”
It’s alright to say it’s “DAMN COLD HERE!”
The snowy months have a strange way of painting a picture of your life, past present and future.
The hyperborean times gives you a sense of yourself that nothing else can give you, FEAR, POVERTY, DOUBT, HUNGER, LOST, ETC…
Just go outside and feel it, truly feel it, sit in a cold house, walk in the snow for an hour without a coat, step into the ice world without shoes, field dress in two feet of snow as the sun sets, sleep on hard, frigid ground, dance naked, dig a grave.
Two things happen and both those things will be fired up by some kind of emotional tangent,
1. Run back in and say this is stupid!
2. Or you will receive the gift, however it’s not gonna be without some kind of tangent, whatever comes about these will have to be brought on by some mental emotional quandary. The cold doesn’t mess around.
Since I’ve been home for a spell my body has been a bit frazzled and not as strong, I used to say, “the cold gives you a name, YOU ARE OLD…” haha yes getting there and the bleak does give you that name.
In between my warm blankets I imagine myself on some boat miles off shore, 10 foot waves, alone in a squall of sleet. Or I think about being a child in some cold war torn city, barely enough wood to survive, breaking oak chairs, and floor boards huddled around a fire place, or being born 243 years ago where it was natural to live without insulation, central heating, Sorels, socks or even gloves.
I also used to say that in those times, “In the times when the earth was still angry with birth, the polar-winds were considered an enemy.”
I often tell people, “stay warm.”
My opinion, I figure those words in an inhospitable world are by far the biggest love-send, consideration, warning and inspiring thing to say to anyone, seek warmth, be warmth, live warmth, with warmth you will share and live a life spreading warmth.
Did I say I hate being frosty, however I can handle it if it slaps me around.
Early evening after a long day of shoveling too much snow, I’m sitting inside the village house, waiting for the fire place to finally do what it’s supposed to do. I Peep out through the door.
I could still feel my skin, my bones, muscles, the pueblo world numbing outside, I stoked up the fire, it’s going to be an arctic stinging wintery night, a big Cheyenne girl type of night.
On the east bridge I saw an aged man leaning into the northerner winds as snow fell dark outside, his white blanket blowing, he made me curious, what was he doing here, on the Glacial looking bridge, shivering his frail skin.
I decided even though I was frozen to see what he was doing. I drudged across the village as the looming, brumal village watched.
I asked the old man, what are you doing here?
HE, the man was not an old man, however IT was a HER, a spirit, a frozen entity, a ghost of the winter.
I stepped away quickly as she stared into my eyes, piercing blueish grey eyes cold as arctic.
I spoke looking back at the smoke coming from my smoke stack, stepping back, “this place, this village is not yours it’s mine, your world is where lies the dark trees of pine, the frosty cliff sides where water lives.”
Without words, she turned to me silence dead as a grave, only the wind as my tone got higher in my numbed throat.
“I asked you to leave our home, my land
You were never sent any invitation.”
The raw Intense spirit floated a little above the bridge, much more hazy as night fell, the wind subsided she turned to me but the biting silence was all that was heard.
She looked me in my eye’s eyes, sad as shivery loneliness and she spoke, ” many years ago I was born here, in this village. I used to hear the young men sing songs on this bridge, my time is done I wanted to see if they still sing here, you are young still have plenty of time to learn the songs. Rise early like the sun or like a stone in water you culture will sink.”
As she disappeared into the cottonwoods I heard, “sing the songs sing my song, even in winter a song can warm the soul…”
Sitting in your warm house, looking out the window, think the world is cold outside?
Sit with me awhile, sing me into your soul, then you will know it’s always the cold inside you that sent the invitation.