Winter in the Desert

Winter time in the desert. The most startling thing about winter is that I don’t hear birds singing. Many species have migrated south. The ones who stay are focused on finding food and staying alive. In winter they don’t feel those rising urges to claim a space and proclaim a territory; a piece of the whole out of which they can derive sustenance for themselves and the family they expect to nurture.

In springtime the competition will begin for the best places - a combat of songs and occasional skirmishes that end in a sort of a truce between rivals. Territoriality, one of the primary laws of nature - the territorial imperative.

But now it is winter in the desert. Winter when the plants draw energy back into their roots. The roots that reach deep into the earth. The roots that search out the nurturing bounty of the earth itself. From the earth, the sun and the atmosphere the plant takes all that it needs to grow and thrive and support the next higher level of life. The plants that support those creatures roam across the ground and fly up over the land. Living, mobile creatures seeking out new sources of information and new experiences to manifest and explore. Free roaming creatures eternally moving outward. Out into the farthest reaches of the known edge of the physical dimension and reaching beyond. Living beings inexorably seeking to push the envelope of life just a little bit further. Seeking to encourage and incorporate into themselves more and more beauty, light, understanding, and love in the ever-ongoing search for perfection.

Perfection, the unachievable goal, the never attained resting place. The place that would mean the end of this outward, expansive breath of creation. Completion, the end of that expulsion out and the beginning of the drawing back in again of all things and all experiences into the One. Who can fathom the depth? Who can fathom the depth?

Time to play my flute.