Change a'Coming; OWNING the Biggest Paradox of All (my most important post this year)

The best titles say everything. A big change, a big move is a'coming for me; my key of intentions and seeking has found the lock that fits. I will share more soon, but for now, I must acknowledge that with the gift comes responsibility.

I've been talking a lot on here of late about paradoxical lessons; how two things that sound opposite are both applicable in what I've been learning lately about spiritual and business growth.

And meanwhile, perhaps unconsciously, I've been ducking the biggest paradox of all, alluding to it occasionally but with denial and unconsciousness.
Here it is:
I cannot produce more than I consume, or write books, or build a business--all of which are manifestations of the physical world--without a physical body!
There, I said it.
When I ask myself, as directed by both spiritual and business advisors, "What do I have to give?", the answer "Show how to be 80lbs and still able to shovel snow" is neither responsible, nor generous to myself or others, nor a meaningful contribution, nor--dare I say--is it playing my highest game, giving the best that I have to give.

So. I'm facing the prospect of a big road trip to a new home with gratitude and excitement.
And I'm owning and acknowledging that a migration of physical body and worldly possessions requires a well-maintained body as well as a well-maintained vehicle.
Even more important: I'm owning and acknowledging that just saying this isn't enough--like the African proverb, "Pray, but while you're praying, move your feet," I'm acknowledging, and I'm taking action.

I'll share more details soon, but I wanted to put this intention out to vibrate in the universe asap.
Please cheer for me!!!

While you weren't looking

Meanwhile, it became spring. Water gushes out, flows over and bites into the stalactite bearding the pipe. Snow recedes into redoubts and enclaves. We scan for hidden ice, and keep hands free so we can use our arms as wind-braced counterweights.

The green dot at 10 in my tide table says we "spring forward" this coming Sunday! Despite the signs of spring, I'm as irritated as every year that the clocks go forward as early as they do, a full two weeks ahead of the planet's cycle. 

And in our special place, I haven't forgotten the blizzard mid-March three years ago, when the whole town came to a standstill, with three or four feet of snow dumped in 24 hours. This old post has a couple photos of an emblizzarded moose down near the bottom.

Puts me in mind, too, of how special a thing it is to live in a place where what the tides are doing is important information, where tide table booklets are handed out by local businesses. How amazing it is that they can publish the tides for a whole year ahead and have them be so accurate. When the very word "fluctuate" comes from the word for "wave," amazing that the big-picture ocean is that predictable. I almost wish there were tide tables for other things in life, but that much predictability wouldn't be so good.

As this inkling-spring comes, even with temperatures getting up to 40 degrees, the big picture is frozen earth and frozen lake.
In summer the float planes take off and land here. In winter, people drive, skate, ski, and hike.

 A stunning blue sky, but I spun around 180 degrees and took a photo facing the other way... 

That's a lot of lake. You can't always tell where the lake begins, and there are patches at the edge where tussocks of grass are holding the snow up  between them quite a way above the ground. Often that suspended snow is strong enough to hold me up, but sometimes I punch through. Sometimes even the dogs punch through. Since we're so close to the lake, it's quite alarming when that happens.
I learn to fluctuate myself, a little: 
-Best time to hike is low tide: most sand, so the dogs can really run. Best part of the day to hike, before lunch: otherwise I'd get nothing done all morning with antsy dog(s). Ideal time and tide coincide only part of the time. There are some beaches, and other places (like the lake) where the tide is less critical, so we go there if there's a big morning high tide. 
-I shed some of my aversion to following in tracks. It's a false pride, since as a moderately civilized human all I ever do is some form of following in tracks, but there is something delicious about the illusion of going au randonee. Those tracks in the photo above are snow machine tracks, and they were helpful for finding ways on and off the lake as well as other ways down to it than we had used. Following vehicle trucks on the beach in sloppy gravel can be the difference between moderately impeded walking and frankly stumbling along, one step forward, three steps back.

As water drains over the pipe's ice-beard, as ice continues to cap the lake, I wonder what form my own springing forward will take, and where I am going next. I'm hoping I can create my own path or be guided to it, because otherwise most likely I'll be treading in my same coil of tracks that take me to a seemingly blue-sky place with storm clouds at my back. 
My mom says it's time for me to stop being a vane blown with all winds; to have a base from which I can journey forth. I'm grateful for the advice, and I'm grateful in a way my awkwardness can't register for the stability and rootedness of my parents' home. But even before I left that home, I was a stranger and a sojourner in the land; no one could ever place me. Not even I.

As I type that, Jesus' words about the wind whose sound you can hear, but from whence it came and whither it goeth you cannot discern, come into my mind. And so it keeps happening when I'm trying to work on a poem or essay right now. I'm working with an image or sound, and here comes something out of the Bible, or out of ancient Greek or Latin literature. I bat them aside, fearing they'll take me "into my head." But they persist. These are my anchors, even now, living here, in a state where I might be the sole Classicist. Perhaps, vane blown with all winds, I am instead the wind itself. Perhaps these texts and canons are my base to which I can return. Perhaps, even if no one else can discern it, I-the-wind must come to know from whence I come and whither I go.

New starts and directions always involve some destruction or composting of the previous. "In the beginning" at the beginning of Genesis should actually be read "In A beginning"--that's what the Hebrew says. This is now recognized as if a theological equivalent to quantum physics theories: there are many possible universes, many possible beginnings, many modalities and conditions, many lives simultaneous and serial.
This old root wad of a dead spruce tree has given life to several new trees.

Meanwhile, another beginning.

Finding a Rhythm at the Wobbly Point, Comfort Zone Communication

As the week gallops by, the days are lengthening, and we have a big full moon hanging up there, casting shadows even at night.

I'm already harkening ahead to the dizzy solstice days when there's almost never any darkness to hide behind, no excuse of darkness not to be busy and out there--and it's not even the equinox yet, although the clocks going forward so soon brings it closer (grumble). (On the other hand, Phil also points out that during those summer days, light riots in such luxurious abundance that it's easy to postpone projects because it'll still be light all the way to midnight.)

On a happier note, I've spent significant time the past two days writing poetry, reading poetry, and writing a critical essay. In this awkward, cuspy time of year, as snow lingers and light lengthens and shadows shift and everything feels a bit off, I cannot quantify how much better I'm feeling in myself as a result of this. The cow's being milked and oh, it feels good.

I'm going to keep this brief tonight, as there's still some work to do, but speaking of work, I wanted to share some thoughts about an odd kind of "comfort zone communication" I've been experiencing recently. I don't know whether to call this a "problem" or just a "phenomenon." What I'm noticing is that for many people, myself included, it's more comfortable to open up, be chatty and conversational, remotely, than it is to interact face to face with actual people, body language, and all the rest of it.

Last week, with all the haywire technology around my course's midterm, I spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone with the technological folks and with the distance education services co-ordinators. And some of the tech guys in particular, not otherwise noted for being socially outgoing, were positively chatty! While we tried to chase down the bugs in my course shell, their conversations ranged over a variety of topics, they were inquisitive about my course and the languages referred to therein, etc, etc. I'm grateful for this in a way, as it's the closest thing I get to collegiality much of the time, as a distance-education faculty. On the other hand, with my writing time so precious and so threatened, I worry about the ease with which I can end up, essentially, chit-chatting while we try to fix broken software. Then, I see myself chatting on facebook, or writing lengthy and socially appropriate emails, at times when I'm not together enough to talk "in real life" to anybody in a remotely civil or socially appropriate way.

How is it that we can adapt to conversation without any of the cues and immediacy that make it meaningful and relevant? Isn't it backwards that I find interacting with someone I can't see less stressful than I find interacting with someone naturally, with their sight, smell, sound, affect and their presence right there with me?

Interesting that I'm posing the question on my blog, another asynchronous and not-in-person communication medium. I just hope that hiding behind a screen isn't eroding my ability to communicate in person.

Any thoughts?