Heavy frost, on the penultimate day of March. Hard, biting ice covers the new hyacinths, the swollen buds on rowan and cherry, the green green grass. We’ve worried about this, and more, for thirty days.
This month came to us sweet and warm out of February, as though we had permission to leap over mucky spring and roll directly into dry summer. It was lovely, but wrong – for the farmers, the trees, for the rhythm of things. Wrong also because the hot sun carried events and circumstance rife with aggression, resentment, illness and psychological murk – I felt the soothsayer’s whisper on the 13th, and on the 15th when I found myself caught in an impossible, painful web of passive-aggressive abuse, I remembered: Beware the ides of March.
And so it continued – The second half of March turned inevitably, inexorably, like two giant mill stones one against the other, grinding the seeds of good ideas to dust. And now, like Ceasar’s, my careful strategies & schedules, my carefully crafted vision became weak rudderless things, bereft of purpose (I am grateful my assassination was not required).
No, says the month of March, 2012. Strategies, however good, are only sketches; visions and intentions must also respect their external environment. You must think again.
damn damn damn. On top of the challenges of March 2012, I’ve been in a five week pitched battle with a bad flu, which has kept my imaginative capacity, my pro-active energies at their absolute lowest. Try as I might to pretend that these events & circumstances are only a brief diversion from the track I’m on, it really is plain as day: “Change for Dummies” sits right in front of me, on the table.
So I shall stop fighting.
I shall stop pushing through, digging in, resisting, forcing, strategizing, and battling the monsters in my imagination.
Instead, I will follow what comes naturally:
I will play. (Ah: clarity)