#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Dry woods, a perfectly comfortable cold. A delicious time for walking. No wind, no gloves, and pleasant, cheerful sunshine for early January. Time to return to my Wednesday morning writers after three weeks.

I’m thinking about the idea of crossing a threshold, as in the invisible kind. Not an actual doorway, a metaphorical one: what does it mean to cross the threshold of a new year?

Threshold: any place or point of entering or beginning

Between forest and field, a threshold 
like stepping from a cathedral into the street—
the quality of air alters, an eclipse lifts, 

boundlessness opens, earth itself retextured 
into weeds where woods once were.

~ Excerpt from “Crossings,” Ravi Shankar

This is the warm-up meditation I write for this morning’s writing group. I read it, and then, in silence, we sit or move around the room, letting our own visions and experiences arise.

New Year’s Threshold Meditation  

What is the threshold you’re crossing from the “old” year into the “new”?

What is its texture. . . shape. . . .smell. . . sound. . . size. . .

How does it feel, physically, to cross this threshold? What is your movement?

How does it feel, emotionally, to cross this threshold? Where is this emotion in your body?

How does it feel, spiritually, to cross this threshold? How is spirit manifesting in your awareness?

Look into your hands:

What are you holding?

 Feel into your mouth:

What are you tasting or swallowing?

Feel into your feet:

         Where are they? If they’re standing, what are they  standing upon? 

My crossing is a granite peak, feet, grounded in the mist of a monadnock. Preparation, not for climbing back down the way I came. Another way: lifting off, flight. But how, do I have wings? No, but this amazing bird of my imagination, will carry me off the peak, I will ride on her wings into the mist, into the new year. . .