The First Snowfall
It has been 25 years since I have first seen snow, and it continues to amaze me. I remember hearing about snow as a child, being told that we didn't have it back home. When we moved to Canada into our tiny apartment, a single mattress on the floor, I ran up to the nearest window. My face pressed against the glass, I stood in silence as the sky opened up to give what seemed like white sparkles to everything around me. Everywhere I looked, it was covered in white, the softest and gentlest white imaginable. It reminded me of the blankets I loved, that I would wrap around me like a cocoon, warmth seeping into my body on a cold night. Snow was and still is beautifully bizarre, delicate and intricate individually, yet formidable when grouped together. In many ways, snow reminds me of a collective whose voice strengthens with every individual who joins. Dare I say that snow reminds me of conviction? Ask any Canadian on the deepest days of our winter; ourselves and even our cars can't get through when snow wants to have its way!
Yesterday, I went to see The Nutcracker for the first time. A beautiful and moving performance by the National Ballet Company, the scene that captivated me was when the arguing brother/sister pair experience snow together in the magical and ethereal of their dreams. Brought to this covered forest by the most dramatic and chaotic of circumstances (a war), they witness the dance of the snowflakes, of individual snowflakes expressing their dance and taking up space on the floor, only to come together at the end.
Humans are a lot like snowflakes, I think. We go through life learning to express and write and embody our unique song, the one thing that makes us unique. The one thing that works and just fits perfectly for you, but would feel amiss for someone else. We focus much of our early years on ourselves, on "me me me," to discover who we are and to shine as brightly as possible with the time we have. The funny thing is that when we commit to using our voice, to be the channel for our souls, what inevitably happens is a commune. A gathering of souls, of snowflakes who share a similar journey, who come together because they see and recognize one another. Like kindred spirits expressing the deepest and purest parts of our souls, it can only lead to one thing: the gift of Seeing, of meeting Truth, and realizing that our journey to be the snowflake leads back home. Back to other snowflakes who have already made their journey, hopped down from the clouds of heaven to glide and spread magic across the sky, only to end up among other snowflakes in our new home we call Earth. I like to imagine Life in this way.
Oh, how it leaves me speechless sometimes, in knowing, to understand the nature of the human soul. That every soul first expresses their art, only to forget who they are as the journey gets harder. And like any (or most) fairy tales, this one has a happy ending if you choose it to be: to accept the invitation of remembering, creating, and playing once again, like the first time you leapt from heaven. After all, when you show who you truly are, that is when everyone else can find you, can approach you on a random night on the dance floor and say, "You are just like me. You are one of us. Want to join?"
Like every snowflake who has gone through this journey, I give thanks for the magnificence and spontaneity of my life. As I embark to create my own pile of snowflakes, my collective, I recognize and honour each individual who has come up to me to share their impact from my work. Thank you for holding me in this sacred dance, snowflakes.
Let's begin again.