I went snow-shoeing for the first time ever today. Majestic moments at its best. Snow powdered rolling hills, open white space, grey clouds slowing sweeping across the sky; momentary glimpses of the top of Mt. Myoko – sacred Mt. Myoko. 

No one had been out since the last snow fall, plains of untouched terrain to play in. Trails left behind from white snow bunnies, prints from foxes chasing after their pray. Scattered black crows calling out, flying inside and above the trees. Barren branches holding snow, soaring black wings seen between them. There were bears around… hibernating… I imagined them burrowed in secret spots beneath the snow…I walked in awe of these massive, powerful creatures within reach, curled up, surrendered, resting… not questioning its natural cycle, not judging it’s flow, simply being One with the way of it’s seasons…

A moving meditation of breath and body. Listening to the swishing of pants, the sound of snow pressed down beneath my feet. I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Wanting to capture it all I found myself attached to the preciousness of the moment, the power of passing time; fear lingered telling lies of how it will never be this good again. I continued walking and let the thoughts sift. Wanting to do everything and nothing all at once – move and stare and write, cry and run and walk, laugh and pray and play and be completely, deeply, quiet. Feeling my heart beat push hard against my chest. 
Thoughts upon thoughts upon insights upon reflection. Snow ball fights and snow base ball games, our hiking sticks turned bats. There were four of us, two locals, an ex-pat and myself, tracing lines into the snow covered earth, weaving paths intentionally, in and out, making art using the canvas of the land, swirling lines and zig zag shapes; the Japanese version of rock-paper-scissors for who got to mark the untouched snow banks first, the blank sheet. 

Sharing hot tea and garden grown snacks. They mostly spoke Japanese, I mostly listened. It’s amazing how much we can learn about one another without shared language. These local women so beautiful – breathtaking in their smiles, their openness to life; taking in their facial expressions and body language, their relaxed energy, the sounds from their lips, their inclusive way of being. We built mini snow men and they made theirs with only two balls. What about the third I asked, what about the legs? They said they’re sitting on the floor, kneeling. 

One of their names was Kurage, which means Jellyfish in English; she smiled as she moved her arms and pretended to be one. She took out a vibrant, glass blown pendant from beneath her coat, green and blue hues swirled around a translucent, beautiful jellyfish. “My nick name in English is Geli!”, I exclaimed. It was the first time I had ever willingly identified with the name, the first time I’d ever shared it with excitement. Eric smiled and told me when we first met he wanted to call me Tenshi – Angel in Japanese. I smiled and said Yes. It was the first time I had ever embraced the name, willingly took it on. Tenshi, I thought, and looked up, Tenshi.