Cold Nature

A dense blanket of snow covers the cemetery grounds. The paths are covered in ice and slush. Today, no crows are present to create noise and chaos. The only sign of human life is a parked car near the entrance, two people within it bundled up in the air conditioner’s warmth. No people walk the paths apart from myself. Stillness fills the air. Yet the cold strips away this ideal I seek, this calm receptivity. External stillness cannot calm the chaos of my mind, so dissatisfied with the brutal winter.

Immediately upon entering the cemetery, I feel the snot begin to freeze to the hair on my upper lip. I cannot take this cold with positivity. I want to take photos of snow-covered gravestones, of the iced-over pond, but standing still sounds too painful. I must remain in motion. I must maximize warmth.

         Today, I see little life here. I see dead trees. I visualize dead bodies. No squirrels or deer remind me of life’s unfolding. If I had no shelter, I’d join these bodies beneath the cold earth very soon. It’s comical how ill-equipped I am—twenty minutes in sub-ten degree weather and I am miserable, throwing a pity party for myself.

         I round a bend and stand upon a ridge overlooking a brick building, a shelter I crave. Beyond the building, a barren lawn stretches toward the road. Here, I stop. I’m not sure if I consciously paused or if my body did the stopping for me. I’m not sure what caused the pause. I think it had to do with the cars rushing along Forbes down and across the snowy field, two hundred yards ahead. Something about their whishing noise and the forest of leafless craggy trees behind them summoned me to stop. Perhaps it had to do with the strange name on the gravestone before me: "Crymble." But in stopping, I hear my mind clearly: “You will never find clarity so long as you keep fleeing. Pause. Become receptive.”

         The sun peeks through the clouds. Its light reflects off the snow, making it appear like chrome fabric. I appreciate the warmth it bestows; I had nearly forgotten how it felt.

         I inhale deeply; bitter air freezes my nostrils. The sun has retreated. How do I become receptive to this goddamn polar vortex? Yeah, I know nature helps my mind’s state, but I am a wimp, and I am realizing that for me, “helpful” nature exists within a very limited threshold of climate zones. The cold depresses me. I do not want to leave my bed. I do not want to smell the snow.

         What am I searching for? I have no idea. But the way I am going about looking, I am never going to find it.

         I arrive home, de-numb my body by the radiator, set up my meditation cushion, light a candle and incense, lay out stones and a clear glass half full of water, sit, and breathe. I become receptive to this moment. To this warmth. For this shelter exists within my limited threshold. In this place, I can forget I’m in cold, bitter nature.