February 19 – About two weeks ago we here in the Northern Hemisphere finally crossed the halfway point in meteorological winter. Getting this far of sound mind after such a cold and blustery season is some consolation. As of today (February 20^th), we only have four more weeks of… well, what? Official winter ends on March 20 this year, but who knows. Those of us who have experience in recent Sullivan winters know how volatile they are. “Spring” can take until late May to finally show up. Chances are good this year, too, that spring will come late; the whole northern half of the planet has been repeatedly doused in vast swaths of frigid arctic air for months. The rocks and ground, the lakes, the rivers, the mountains and forests of the Northern Hemisphere are deep frozen. The sun will have to shine hotly at surface level—or a lot of warm moist air must well up from the South—to finally dispel this winter’s chill.

Beyond atmospherics, though, February/March is an uncomfortable time up here. You have to take care of your soul and your spirit. They are fragile in months like these, or more fragile than usual. It is a desolate and dreary time; red mud and black ice are everywhere and often commingled. The dim light, persistent cold, and inability to often move around outside is downright depressing. This year I have been trying to better articulate a response to the harsh winter by extending and enlarging some activities with friends as well as by also learning entirely new skills like car maintenance and advanced chess.

The best thing I’ve done to keep mind and soul active and alive this winter was to attend a Lunar New Year’s celebration this past Tuesday. On that day I went with some close friends to visit Sullivan County’s Blue Cliff Monastery, just off Exit 116 on Rt 17 (Bloomingburg). The beautiful and functioning Buddhist monastery, built almost like a village into the side of a hill, was founded by famed peace teacher Thich Nhat Hanh in the Plum Village tradition. The monastery was full of vibrant happy people celebrating a new year. No matter that small avalanches of heavy snow were crashing off the Great Togetherness Hall’s rooftop all through the day; we saw and so experienced, many delights that winter seemed vanquished.

One highlight was an oracle ceremony based on a long Vietnamese poem called the “Tale of Kieu.” Participants in the ceremony presented to an oracle a vexing problem or question in their personal lives. The oracle then provided a commentary on their problem, as expressed in some lines of text randomly lifted from the “Tale of Kieu.” Senior monks and nuns then evaluated and interpreted the text in light of their study of the Buddhist teachings on mindfulness and social and ethical engagement. The questions posed were both practical—how to stop Mom and Dad worrying about their little NJ restaurant so much—to more psychologically probing (“How can I possibly know that I am strong enough to do the job that needs to be done?”). What was very reassuring was how the sangha—the community of monastics and celebrants who live, work, and visit the monastery—steadfastly promised support to the questioners with practical solutions to their problems. Afterwards we all went to a scrumptious Vietnamese vegan lunch which we ate outside in the brilliant sunshine sitting on picnic tables surrounded by snow.

From my half-day visit I brought home a very bright gem: an aphorism of wisdom which vanquished winter entirely for me last Tuesday. I was asked to pull a small scarlet envelope from the oracle. I didn’t open it up until hours later, once home. Opening the little envelope then, I found a small slip of paper on which was simply inscribed, “to a mind that is still / the whole universe surrenders.” Dear Reader, in these dingiest and most distressing of times, I don’t think I have read any few pearls of wisdom more insightful, inspiring, or profound. “… the whole universe surrenders…” glints in my mind like a scarlet ruby or deep-green emerald set amidst all that brilliant snow. They, those gems, vanquish it, the winter. Dear Reader: consider your inner stillness, your power over darkness and loneliness, and be well.