I woke up this morning to a world changed overnight. My straggly, untidy garden was transformed into a wonderland clothed in white, a hushed world of muted sounds broken only by confident crows announcing their presence. The motorway traffic had faded to the sound of distant seas.
Teddy gradually eased himself out of the house, dipping his front paws into the cold fluffy stuff, then, delighted, his whole body emerged to play in the snow. He sniffed at it, sneezing as flakes tickled his nose. I sat with him to watch the flakes drifting side to side on their way to touch the earth. I strained my ears to find the sounds I usually encounter, the sounds of busyness. My excess rubbish bags from the festive season were hidden from sight, a rugged white boulder.
And as I sat there absorbing the contrasting excitement and calmness of the scene, it came to me that this is how my pagan beliefs affect my life.
I am well aware of the harshness of this world. I worked for many years in the field of homelessness, working with people with addictions that ruled their lives, with people unable to thrive in the world as it is now. I have experienced first hand the impact illness can have, not just on the life of the person affected but also the people who love and care for them. I know the terrifying need to adjust to a new life shaped by a lightning strike of disability.
Yet through all this my pagan beliefs have been there. The strident chattering of a world that has little respect for people or the earth is muffled to a background hissing. Jagged edges are softened. A sense of wonderment and joy fills my life, lifting my spirits. I don’t just cope with life, I delight in it.
Snow reminds me to listen to the silence, to see things in a new light, to look for the small things, to remain aware there is a larger picture much bigger than any of us, to marvel at nature. And so the wheel turns.Written by Portland Jones, PF Disabilities Liaison for West Midlands