THE INKWELL SOUL

Tag: #joy

  • Shovels Down, Spirits Up: A Snow Day Blessing

    The thermometer was doing its best impression of a single digit, and the sky was the color of old cement. Outside, our mile-long world was a pristine, drifted fortress, and its drawbridge – our driveway – was sealed shut.

    It started with a grumble and the scrape-scrape-THUMP of the shovel on the deck. Being the only house on the mile means we’re either the shovelers or the snow angles are just going to have to wait for the mail. The cold dug into my bones, chased by a few choice words aimed squarely at the flat side by side tire that refused to cooperate. This time of year always brings that peculiar mix of memory: the quiet joy of a daughter’s birth, shadowed by the ache of her father’s passing, all wrapped up in a blanket of winter white.

    But there’s work to be done. Soon, my snow-fighting sidekick was out, tackling the garage doors with the focus only a teenager facing frozen obstacles can muster. We worked in a chilly rhythm, pushing, lifting, and swearing (mostly me) until a strange warmth began to bloom. It felt good. A deep, satisfying sweat. A reminder that my body is still a machine, capable and strong. “This disease,” I muttered to the sky, “does not have me.”

    The last of the heavy snow near the road gave way, and the moment the work was done, the shift happened. My daughter – my glorious snow baby – didn’t walk away . She threw her shovel down like a mic drop and launched herself into the nearest, fluffiest ditch-drift.

    Her laughter – bright, and utterly carefree – was a magnet. One second I was the weary adult, the next I was rolling myself backward into the snowbank like a runaway toddler. Two grown-up bodies acting like total fools, laughing until the single-digit cold was completely forgotten. It was a pure, simple, physical joy reset.

    That moment, the one where the burden of the chore vanished and we were just two playful souls surrounded by quiet, white beauty, is the one I’ll bottle up and keep forever. The memory I want to hold: that the hardest work always earns the most ridiculous, heart-swelling fun.

    And then, the cherry on top of our perfect, gritty, snowy day: a brief visit from Grandpa, who brought the holy grail of midwest comfort food – kolaches. Warm, sweet, and delivered by a loving hand.

    Some days are measured in accomplishments – a clean driveway, an un-drifted mailbox. Other days are measured in moments: a blast of laughter, a shared sugary treat, and the profound realization that our blessings arrive in the most unexpected, snow-covered ways. What a perfect, unforgettable day.

  • The Silent Watcher

    The cacophony of the mind is a relentless orchestra, a symphony of anxieties, judgments, and echoes of past hurts. It’s a crowded marketplace where every vendor screams for attention, each offering a different version of “you”. And in that clamor, it’s easy to mistake the noise for your very essence.

    Eckhart Tolle’s words, a quiet whisper in the storm, offer a different perspective: “Be the silent watcher of your thoughts and behavior. You are beneath the thinker. You are the stillness beneath the mental noise. You are the love and joy beneath the pain.”

    It’s a radical shift, a call to step outside the swirling vortex of our mental narratives. To become the observer, not the protagonist, of our internal drama. To recognize that the thoughts that parade through our minds, the behaviors we enact, are not us, but rather fleeting phenomena, like clouds drifting across the vast expanse of the sky.

    This “silent watcher” is not a judge, nor a critic. It is the awareness that simply is, the still point in the turning world. It is the space between the thoughts, the pause before the reaction. It is the quiet understanding that beneath the surface turbulence, there lies a deep, unwavering stillness.

    The pain, the heartbreak, the sense of betrayal – these are real, and they demand to be felt. But they are not the totality of your being. They are temporary visitors, storms that rage and then subside, leaving behind a clearer sky. Beneath the pain, like a hidden spring, flows the pure, unadulterated essence of love and joy.

    To live by this is not a passive acceptance of suffering. It is an active practice of dis-identification. It’s the daily, sometimes hourly, reminder that you are not your thoughts, your emotions, your circumstances. You are the vast, silent awareness that holds them all.

    Imagine yourself as a clear, still pond. The thoughts and emotions are ripples on the surface, disturbing the calm. But the pond itself remains unchanged, deep and serene. The practice is to return to that stillness, to anchor yourself in the awareness that underlies the ever-changing surface.

    This is not a quick fix, nor a magic formula. It is a journey of self-discovery, a gradual unveiling of the truth that lies within. It’s a process of learning to recognize the mental noise for what it is – just noise – and to find the quiet strength that resides in the stillness beneath.

    With each moment of conscious awareness, with each breath taken in the present, you reclaim your power. You step out of the illusion of the mind and into the reality of your being. You discover that you are not defined by the pain, but by the love and joy that reside within, waiting to be rediscovered. You are the silent watcher, the stillness, the love, and the joy. And that, is your true enduring self.