year of the horse

I live in a small pocket of Northern California that is currently experiencing what, for us, is a major snowstorm. When snow comes like this, it often takes the power with it. As of this writing, I am without electricity – jotting my thoughts down by hand, waiting for what could  be days for the lines to be restored.

Outside, the snow is falling in thick silent layers. It is beautiful in that mystical way. The trees don their white cloaks and the world is hushed.

And yet.

With the beauty comes a current of stress that flows beneath the surface. How long will the power be out? Will pipes freeze? Are the roads passable? Snow asks us to be still, but it also exposes our dependence, our vulnerability, our desire for control.

I am noticing how these seemingly opposite states coexist: stillness and restlessness, quiet and anxiety, awe and irritation. The storm doesn’t choose any of these. It holds them all.

As we have entered  the Year of the Fire Horse, I can’t help but feel the contrast. This year brings movement, heat, momentum, instinct. It invites us to step forward with courage and vitality. And yet here I sit… in stillness, wrapped in layers, listening to the absolute quiet.

Perhaps this is not a contradiction but a teaching. Fire is not only blaze; it is also ember. Horse is not only at a full gallop; it is also breath. Even a year defined by momentum will have moments that bring everything to a halt. No power. No signal. No progress. Just what is here.

This storm feels like a reset. A reminder that things like beauty and stress can show up together. The snow is stunning. It is also inconvenient and disruptive. Both are true at the same time.

For now, I’m sitting by the fire with a pen, paying attention. There’s a certain clarity that comes when the usual noise drops away. Not necessarily peace. Not necessarily insight. Just awareness.

Outside, everything is quiet.

Inside, something  continues to listen.