Have you seen the movie Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell?
In honor of today, you ought to rent it this evening. (Spoiler Alerts below)
The basic premise is that a big-shot city newscaster goes with his crew to Punxsutawney, PA to see if Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow on Groundhog Day, thereby determining whether or not (weather or not) there will be six more weeks of winter or if spring will come early.
Bill Murray’s character is, in addition to other things, a snide, condescending womanizer who ends up repeating the same day. In order to redeem himself and change his fate, he must change.
He must allow his persona, his mask, to fall away, revealing his true nature. In the movie, Bill Murray has allowed his shadow self to dominate. As the movie progresses, more light is allowed, granting him increased consciousness.
Now I’m not saying you are snide or condescending. But perhaps you can identify with the idea of repeating cycles or patterns. Are you in an endless loop? Can you relate to the idea of allowing your persona to dominate? Have you allowed your mask to come between you and authentic relationships or experiences? Has the persona become a shield between you and yourself?
Do you know who you really are anymore?
The cross-quarters, the mid-points between seasons, as like dusk and dawn. They are liminal moments – transitional stages between one thing and another. Like the moments between sleeping and waking, the threshold between dreams. Autumn, Winter, Summer, and Spring get all the glory! They get the beach vibes and the pumpkin spice lattes, the holiday lights, and the colored eggs. The cross-quarters, Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas, and Samhain can sometimes be extenuated.
But there is richness in those in-between moments. Most of the time we live in the in-between.
There is softness there. Spaciousness. Like the darkness in the night sky before the next moon cycle. There is mystery and possibility. In that in-between, there is quiet and breadths for questions to be answered.
We are still in the moment of Imbolc. There is still time to create a small ritual. To write a healing poem, light some candles, or burn some sage.
It can be small and right now. While you heat the water for tea, listen to how the water goes from still to boiling; watch the steam.
Pour the water from on high. See its impact on the bag, causing it to swirl in the mug. Listen to the clang of the spoon on the ceramic. Notice the water change color from clear to burnished bronze. Honey? Milk? Straight? You call it. Smell the sweetness or be enlivened by the squeeze of citrus. Note the way the rind is bumped and waxy.
Now take it into your hands. Feel the warmth move from the palms to your heart and throat. Sniff your warm brew. Take a long soft inhale and connect with it and yourself.
Put your phone away so you can attend to yourself. Be present. In these ten minutes it takes you to drink your tea you won’t miss anything in the news or social media. I promise.
All that screen time is making you miss what’s right in front of you – your life. The chill of the air on your hamstrings. The weight of the robe on your shoulders. You can only know if you pay attention.
There are 1440 minutes in a day. Taking ten to sit with yourself is like unlocking a treasure chest. It’s unlocking the treasure in your chest. It unlocks your heart.
I know things now. I know it’s time to leave my writing because the black phoebe that lives in the tree outside my window starts chirping at the same time. I look up and notice the dark night melting. Light isn’t pouring in this morning. Dawn, this liminal moment, is leisurely right now.
I’ll take that with me into the day – a day packed with orthodontists, therapists, government offices, school runs, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, a hospital visit to a friend, and other small errands. I’ll remind myself to be like the dawn – to not get stuck in a time loop – but to be soft, slow, and at ease.
I’ll remind myself to admire my shadow. I’ll appreciate the light.