MINA DIARIES: on winter
One of my favorite things to do on a cold winter day is sit by the fire with blankets and pillows and my dogs all snuggled around me, sip hot chocolate, and watch documentaries about Siberia.
The high temperatures through the winter in Yakutsk, Siberia are rarely above -4 degrees Fahrenheit, with the lowest recorded temperature around -86 F. In Yakutsk, people have to keep their cars running all winter to avoid their engine oil freezing, or else they have to wait until spring when their cars thaw. Their buildings look thick, with high, small windows. In one documentary I watched, I saw some Yakutskians hopping into what I thought was a cozy hot spring, until I realized these strange people were actually stripping naked on -20 F degree days and taking ice baths.
The hearty people of the small town of Oymyakon gather blocks of ice and heat it up in their modest wooden homes until it’s thawed enough to drink. Their children are bussed off to school as long as the temperature doesn’t dip below -50 F. It looks like it takes the parents about twenty minutes to prepare them with their layers so they can walk to the bus stop. Rather than making hearty stews and soups, they eat lots of fish and cold hard boiled eggs and shipped-in cold fruit. There are no trees or paved roads.
Suddenly cold New England winters don’t seem so bad. Our pine trees covered in snow seem crisp and refreshing and lovely. The air is cold, but it won’t always be. Icicles on windows form beautiful patterns. My studio stays at a comfortable 72 degrees all winter. I’m pretty much always moving so I stay plenty warm, and my clients enjoy blankets, hot rice packs, a heated table and a hot tea.
As important as these creature comforts are, I find it’s just as important to be able to think warm. I dream of being like the monks who can take frozen blankets to mountain tops and meditate themselves warm, thawing the blankets on their backs until steam emanates from them. That probably won’t happen for me, at least in this lifetime, so I stick with visual meditations.
I surround myself with fluffy blankets and pillows, lay comfortably and close my eyes. I take deep breaths, hold them for a count of two, and sigh, breathing out through my mouth. I am on the peak of a mountain, sitting on a stitched pillow filled with hay. The air is cool, soft snowflakes are falling around me, the sky is cloudy, and down below, I can see a little village with people walking about, bundled up against the cold. Snowflakes fall upon oxen pulling carts. Pine tree branches blow softly in the breeze, covered in thin layers of snow. Then up above, the clouds slowly begin to dissipate and clear, the grayness of the sky fading to reveal shades of clear blue. The sun peeks out from behind the disappearing clouds. Its warm rays shine down upon the Earth. Snowflakes are no longer falling, they’ve been replaced by the rays of sunshine. The snow on the ground, on the trees, on people’s coats, on the oxen begins to melt. The Earth is warmed, basking in golden sunshine. The air feels warm and heavy. The people down below are shedding their coats, stretching their stiff limbs until they become limber. The oxen have a fresh bounce in their steps. Now the air is hot and a little humid, it falls around me and the people and the animals and the Earth like a warm blanket. We all take deep breaths, inhaling warm air, exhaling hot air. The sun shines down on all of us and we’re immersed in its golden glow. The world is cozy and at peace.
One day, months from now, it will be time for cooling down visual meditations, but I enjoy the sunny ones for now. My dogs, who live in the present, don’t mind. They love frolicking in the snow, sniffing and digging through it in the forest, finding frozen sticks and small critter hideaways. Sometimes the snow is higher than their little heads, and they have to hop through it like bunnies. There’s a ten- or twelve-foot little snow mountain outside my window, and in the morning I drink coffee and watch children come around with their sleds. Sometimes I’ll put on my snow shoes and take the dogs on a hike. Or I’ll go to the outdoor hot tub at the Loon wellness center and watch the skiers come down the mountain. There’s so much to love about winters up here, but it’s comforting to know that in a few short months, the snow will melt and we’ll all be warm again.
