This morning, here in northwest Vermont we had our first real snow of the season. As I peered out the window at the expanse of white-blanketed meadow that is my back yard, I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised. I love the finality of the first snowfall. It’s as if nature herself were saying, "well, too bad if you haven’t tended to those remaining outdoor chores, I’m shutting things down anyway."

I stood there at the window as the gathering daylight cast weird, feeble low angle shadows in my kitchen. And as I looked out I smiled, and thought how comforting the moment was. The house was warm and snug, and not even the dog was awake yet. As the old clock that hangs on the wall in the entranceway marked the passage of time with its tics and tocks, I thought some more. I wasn’t completely awake. A good friend of mine refers to that curious half-awake state as "sleep fruity," and I guess I was. For try as I might to assemble a plan for the day, all I could do was marvel at the snow. It fell harder, and I was starting to wonder if it would accumulate.

That was several hours ago, and as I write, the sun is attempting to poke through the clouds. The temperature has warmed up some and the snow is starting to melt. But I can still hear the tick of that clock. And as I think back to this morning, to that moment that I spent in the kitchen, attempting to plan my day, I can understand that sense of comfort I was feeling.

It seems to me that, as human beings, we live with constant irony. On the one hand, by observing what is going on all about us we are reminded, by the rhythms of life itself, that our realities are based upon change. Yet it seems to me that we possess a propensity towards a desire for stasis: the need for a sort of personal equilibrium. And one could probably argue that these two things, flow and non-flow, seem contradictory. And not surprisingly, at least to me, I believe that it is here, where we sometimes get ourselves into trouble.

For we do acknowledge change, but only on our own terms. Sure we observe our bodies’ as they age before our eyes, but this happens slowly. We watch our children grow, but the change occurs so incrementally that its happening sometimes surprises us. Or we can experience this type of change by watching a beloved pet age and die. But life does not operate on our terms. No, life just is as it happens, and this sometimes includes periods of out-of-reckoning change. And to a degree, one could argue that life, and when I say life I mean the workings of the universe and our place in it, is energy in motion. And although, within the scientific community the jury is still "out" as to whether or not energy can have purpose, it seems to me that the math will never support the notion that energy could act on impulses such as revenge, reward or punishment.

You know stasis is one of those words with more than one meaning. It can imply stagnation, but it can also speak to poise. And I believe that there is a good reason for that. It seems to me that as human beings we all have a need to achieve balance--as an aside, I further believe that this need arises out of the stronger need for actualization and transcendence, anyway, my point is that I believe that we oftentimes misinterpret our feelings. We sense the need to achieve balance, but we misconstrue it, and in our confusion we act as if it were a call towards something like stagnation. And we take comfort in this state, where it is all warm and cozy. Therefore, to maintain this placated condition we become change averse, and eventually start associating change with feelings of fear and dread.

But then I think back to this morning, when I was standing there in the kitchen watching the snow. I tried to plan my day but at that moment I couldn’t. All I could do was wonder at the snow, and be happy. And it seems to me that that happiness, that contentment happened because, for at least a little while, I was centered, plugged squarely into the whole. I was not only watching the snow fall, I was participating in the change of seasons. And that was a very nice feeling. I felt like I was moving forward, riding the change, like a surfer on a wave. No, it was not a feeling of stagnation. It was one of fleeting poise.