More conversations with Mother Nature about winter

"Did you see Mark Nadell's photo album on Facebook, "A Tale of Two Winters?" I asked Mother Nature this question as I was making coffee this morning and wondering if I could just do several up/down trips at Tahoe Donner, maybe Andromeda.

"I don't need a computer to get inside Mark Nadell's mind," she scoffed, "I'm in there all the time and I know what he's thinking." She fingered the wilting fern plant on the kitchen window sill. "Too much sun," she remarked.

"You can say THAT again." I said. "Listen Mother, I have been really committed to seeing you as the ultimate authority on what is best for this planet, that it's a bit ridiculous for us to be worrying about when it will snow and getting frustrated and angry when we see pictures of yellow balls instead of clouds and snowflakes on the Accuweather website," I said. "And I still really believe that you know best. However, I do get a little downhearted when I try to skate-ski on icy trails and my toes cramp from trying to cling to something secure. And my knees hurt from my skis sliding out from under me when I push off."

She rolled her eyes and beckoned for her black raven to perch on her shoulder. He'd found his way to the kitchen garbage and was feasting on old coffee grounds and rancid sunflower seeds.

"Didn't you hear what Tav Streit told you as you limped across the parking lot at Royal Gorge on Saturday?" she asked impatiently. "You're supposed to find balance right over you feet and pay very close attention to riding a flat ski even though it goes against all your instincts. I saw you out there trying to find security by clinging to the snow...butt sticking out...snowplowing...legs straight as matchsticks. You should know by now that there is no such thing as security so why spend so much energy trying to have it? Just let go and trust your balance and your strength instead of clinging all the time. Honestly, all those books you read about Buddhism and you still get all worked up about things you have no control over...like for example my decisions about whether it should snow."

"I'm not that worked up!" I said defensively. "I just find other things to do. I went for a 50 mile bike ride yesterday down at Foresthill didn't I?"

"Yes and when you hit snow on the road before the 25 mile turnaround, you obsessed about how you were going to get in an honest 50 so you added on three miles at the end. And then you worried about what would happen to your upper body strength if you couldn't cross-country ski and you thought about how much you hate swimming in pools and how much you dislike lifting weights. You thought about a pulley system that would be like Nordic skiing and that you could get rich if you invented something."

I was deeply humiliated that she'd been spying on me and even worse that she was inside my head. There should be a sign on my forehead saying, "DANGER-DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION FROM THE OWNER."

"Do you have any flies around here," she asked looking on all the windowsills. "I need a snack."

"Well you'd think there would be with all this SUN.." I said indignantly.

"Ahem...look outside dear. It is snowing this morning." I saw one or two flakes outside the window.

She went on..."You know all that yoga you practice. When you ski on the ice, why not just apply those principles of being grounded, finding balance and stability, bringing attention into your feet and trusting the innate wisdom of your body?"

"Are you taking yoga classes too?"

"Honey, whom do you think yoga was intended to celebrate and honor? What you do in yoga is exactly what I do all day every day. I bring balance, beauty, love...I bring the darkness and I bring the light...I bring storms and I bring the calm afterward. It's all about balance. There can be no light without darkness and no wisdom without working through hardship. And perhaps the hardest lesson of all, no life without death. Humans are really resistant to death of any kind. Death of giving up ego wishes, death of old ways that do not work to make way for the new and different."

I sat down and realized how fortunate I am that some days my most challenging decision is what I will do for play...ski, bike or run.

I looked at her as she stroked her raven's smooth black feathers.

"You're right," I said. "I always have choice even in the worst of circumstances. I can always choose how I will respond."

"Now you're getting it!" she said. And then she was gone in a swirling skirt of snowflakes.