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Time. We are all bound by it. There are just so many moments in each day. Those moments expand into the years that make up our lifetime but, eventually, time runs out. At some point in the far distant future, even our bright sun will find, not withstanding The Rolling Stones declaration to the contrary, that time is not, in fact, on our side.

Over the past few years, I've been at several workshops and retreats where Time has been invoked as a ally. The idea being that Time would work with us for the duration of the event. There would be the perfect amount of time to eat and do magic and shower and get from here to there without feeling rushed. We would honour Time and, in return, Time would consent to move just a bit more slowly or not at all or, at the very least, time would amble along at a leisurely pace keeping in harmony with our activities.

Is time linear, circular or parallel? Depending on our perspective, we may be influencing our own healing. 

Regardless of the spelling, the name Chronus/Cronus/Khornos/Chronos, is associated with linear time and the early origins of the Earth. In some myths Khronos is a serpent with the heads of a man, a bull and a lion. He paired with the serpent goddess Ananke. They coiled around the primal egg and split it open to create the earth. In other myths, Cronus is the Greek Titan who castrated his own father and ate his own children to gain the former’s power and to prevent the latter from coming into power.

     The world outside is covered with softly drifting snow, nearly two feet deep in places. There is a hush in the air, roads empty, storefronts dark. Lady Winter has us in Her icy grip, and it feels as though She will continue to hold us for ages to come. And yet, I saw a robin yesterday.

     As I drove around attending last minute birthday/Super Bowl party tasks, I caught sight of a small brown form flitting over a snow-covered cornfield. My heart leapt as I spied that plump gentleman's crimson waistcoat, so bright against the gray February sky. What joy to see that feathered harbinger of Spring, and on Imbolc eve, no less. It seemed an auspicious omen.

Some days you just can’t see the light even if it was shining right in your eyes.  I try to remind myself on those days to think positive, to find the positive in everything I see, hear and feel.  It doesn’t always work.  Some days I can feel myself sinking, deeper and deeper into a black hole. 

I felt like I was holding on by a thread after my husband’s heart attack. I found myself a caretaker while working a full-time job, dealing with our out-of-touch employer, editing my new manuscript for my publisher, keeping my radio show on the air and trying to pay the bills. Then the opportunity to spend a couple days floating on the Lazy River at a resort in Las Vegas presented itself.

Yes, it was in the hottest part of summer in Las Vegas, but anything was better than being in the office where I could not shake off my boss’ demoralizing words. I thought our performance for the last thirty years in his employ buffered us from the angst and vulnerability so many workers were feeling these days, but no. His reply to my query if my husband could expect sick leave during this health crisis kept echoing in my ears. “I don’t want to pay Roy for sitting home on the couch!” It took all my strength to refrain from hoping in his next life he came back as the guy who cleans out port-o-potties.

So we packed up the car and headed for Las Vegas and the Lazy River. Days of floating in quiet contemplation was just what I needed to recharge my batteries and have a moment to think about something besides stents, pills and doctors and how unappreciated I was feeling. At first the Lazy River just allowed, allowed, allowed me to just be, with no pressure. I could drift with no place to go but round and round, softly, gently, and quietly. Even the kids sharing the Lazy River were not a source of aggravation. It was peaceful and my brain could click off for a few hours.

As the hours turned into days, I began to feel like myself again and before I knew it the creative juices were flowing and this Lazy River became a source of inspiration.

Sometimes we can just float along in life, easily avoiding the chaos all around us, without having to put forth much effort to avoid turbulents. We see others around us going under but somehow we’ve managed to catch the current that just steadily pulls us along out of harms way. We may be lucky enough to continue like that for a bit but sooner or later we’re going to brush up against the rocks. We might even feel as if we're drowning as we are unable to avoid getting sucked beneath rapids and struggle to the surface gasping for air. If we’re lucky, in the next few times around the bend, we might be able to catch our breath. We feel lucky to maneuver ourselves away from the crushing weight of the waterfalls, large and small, we see along the journey.

As we go round and round, with each turn of the wheel, we learn to adapt. We try different positions to discern how to place ourselves so that we float along as stable as possible. We stretch and strengthen our muscles to avoid the rocks and waterfalls. We keep an eye on the horizon so we might manage to avoid chaos and not get stuck in log jams. We wear protective covering to ward off direct hits we might not avoid along the way. And sometimes, if we look for it, gifts present themselves during the struggle, and it is oh so important to embrace those moments in gratitude.  I am grateful.  I am grateful.  I am grateful.

Sometimes abundance looks suspiciously like chaos.

Life has been very, very busy lately. I am learning the meaning of abundance, I suppose, as both wonderful things and challenging things are happening, all at once. Each day feels like a cup filled past its brim. Taking a page out of a beloved friend's book, I have started giving each year a name, and in January I decided that 2013 would be the Year of Accepting All Gifts. Whoa-boy, did I do a number on myself with that!