The View from Here: the January sap is rising

Finally I emerge – not a shining butterfly … more like a sleepy owl, blinking and bemused, but ready to wish one and all a belated Happy New Year!

Well!  Here I am, halfway through the second week of January 2017.  And finally settling to a blog post.  I have been writing – but for myself alone.  And I have been reading – reading books, and also whittling away at the ever-growing list of posts written by others: people who make time for writing, reading and living in a way that seems to elude me a lot of the time.  And I’ve caught up on some people I owe emails to, though several important and dear friends are still waiting.

I’ve also done a lot of unnecessary and not very productive thinking.  But, you know what?  It’s okay.  I am what I am and where I am.  And if my mind goes spiraling off on one of its meandering ruminating rambles, ratcheting up unhelpful emotions and stamping hard on energy, enthusiasm and motivation, well – it happens.   I know I’ll be back; life always returns to an even keel after a while.  And it has.

Rumi’s The Guest House has been a personal favourite for many years.


January, with its two faces looking forward and back, is often a time of reflection and planning for me.  But the view from here has been a touch grey and bleak; over the last few months, Bernie and I have each had our share of low mood – unhelpfully at different times.  So I’m a little late in starting to think about the coming year.  There have been no resolutions and seemingly no plans of any kind. For a while 2017 was looking a little …. empty.  But even as I write this, I can feel something stirring.  Just as with the bright and brave green spears already pushing up through the wet ground with their promise of bright flowers in the weeks ahead; over the past day or two more positive thoughts have stepped up to the mark.  Enthusiasm, like the sap, has begun to rise.

I have this one thought, after all my introspection, which stands out clear, bright and true in the January gloom.  This year will be about Presence, Power and Positivity.  The three ‘P’s.  Perhaps that’s three thoughts?

Presence is something I strive for and manage to achieve sometimes: being in the here and now, noticing what’s happening around me and within me.  Accepting it all for what it is and shutting down the monkey mind chatter I find more difficult.  But I’ll keep trying.

Power is arbitrary, frequently capricious, whimsical and random.  I have plenty of it; I just misplace it sometimes.  Generally under the moldering compost heap of ruminative thoughts.

Positivity hides there too.

However, positivity is the catch-all, for it can turn negative experiences into something worthwhile and meaningful.  When it’s finished hibernating with the messier, darker aspects of life it emerges shining and renewed once again.  And as we move steadily away from the winter solstice – as the days grow longer and the hours grow lighter – my thoughts grow lighter and brighter once again.


Finally I emerge – not a shining butterfly … more like a sleepy owl, blinking and bemused, but ready to wish one and all a belated Happy New Year!


And now I have that off my chest, I can get on with the business of living and loving, writing and reading, blogging and who knows – maybe even adventuring!

The open door of 2017 is beckoning and already I feel better!


19 thoughts on “The View from Here: the January sap is rising”

  1. I’d like to say something meaningful, at a time when I’ve been struggling myself to find more positivity and energy. I’ll content myself with admiring your can-do spirit, and wishing you a productive and happy 2017.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love that Rumi poem – if you have not yet seen it, you might like this interpretation by Zen Pencils I think it is helpful at times when we feel low or unproductive nevertheless to be able to notice that this is so, and that it will all pass. Your approach is spot on and very inspirational 🙂

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  3. That is a special poem indeed, a gift. There’s been low energy these first weeks and little inclination, but I feel the shift too, despite the urge to hibernate, I try to seize those moments when they arise, rest when called to and use gratitude and nature to help along the way. Knowing all will be well, as you so poignantly say. Sending warm, healing vibes and light to you Sandra.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. That’s a wonderful wake up call, Sandra. It’s so easy to be blanketed down by louring skies and spirits at this time of year, but your open door awaits and life is far too precious and short not to step through.And there’s a beautiful world out there.


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    1. You are absolutely right, Pat. And I’m hopeful of exploring a little more of it this year! (I’ve literally sat down to start that long overdue email to you and Sue. It’s coming… slowly!) xxx


  5. What a great job you’ve done of expressing these feelings in a way people seem to really relate to. I spend a lot of time in my own head, too, and can never decide whether that’s a valuable place to be or not. But, regardless, it’s who I am and what I do. The Rumi poem provides a lovely alternative way of seeing things–as long as we don’t let the violent and negative visitors move in for good.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Kerry. I can’t imagine not being in my own head a lot of the time, but aiming for a balance is important. And thank you too, for the wonderful advent series – your posts were a real joy 🙂


  6. [D] That’s lovely Sandra – and so honest. We’re not retired, and indeed we’ve never been busier with work on our various micro-enterprises (and indeed on just feeding ourselves!). However we don’t have fixed schedules (apart from turnarounds at the two holiday lets!) or a boss breathiing down our necks, so time is by and large our own. Alas that makes it all too easy to drift … We do find that to get a bit more done, the best thing is to be watch out for endless procrastination (aka research, thinking, waiting for inspiration). There’s no substitue for just making a start!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You are absolutely right, Denise, and I am well aware of it: one of the reasons for the move here was to avoid drifting (vegetating as B describes it). I adore being master of my own time but everything comes with a cost. The temptation to drift is strong, and being in a sparsely populated area (albeit not to the same extent as your neck of the woods) means social contact is limited. Again, I like that – but it comes with a cost attached. Perhaps B & I should start a micro-business! (In fact, I’m going to give that some serious thought…)

      Liked by 1 person

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