I’ve always been fascinated by the sound of ice…something I only discovered the winter of 2005 when I remember lying on the hard thick pristine crust, beating my fists and kicking furiously at it. I was somewhere over near Thoreau Cove and the ice that winter was easily over a foot thick.
I remember cursing the forces that had closed me out of the water. I was desperate to get into that magic world to experience the altered consciousness that cold water swimming bought.
Thoreau (in Walden) spoke about it from a different perspective. He said it was like having ‘heaven under our feet as well as over our heads (…looking into the) quiet parlor of fishes pervaded by a softened light as through a window of ground glass’*
I am happy to look on ‘with Thoreau’ these days, though my fascination with the sound of ice remains. And it remains a mystery to me too.
I wrote about it once…
Whips and cracks
ice whacks its own self
as the breeze
through the trees
stirs the winter wind
and the halo of bellowing leaves
skittle across the
white ice floor
screeching and moaning
the days they were free to play
at the waters door.
the empty room
of the white world.
she picks up the fullness
winter has in store,
throws it at the chilled air
and the white icy stares
the pond no more. (Ice Drum, Liz Watson, 2/07)
Today I feel it a little differently…
At a Reiki/Sound Healing session this week my practitioner (ReikiSoundofBoston) places the singing bowls on my abdomen. I close my eyes.
As the vibrations radiate from the bowl, in my root chakra I become the bowl of Walden’s enormously deep belly of water. My physical body is picking up the waves of sound like ice-through-air-through-water in the central unfrozen part of the pond. The gentle gnawing of the water on ice are the vibrations that ebb and flow through my cells.
Suddenly I am aware I do not have arms. They have become the woods, the trees, the dirt and sand surrounding the pond. They are my sheath, holding the vibration of the bowl within my body. Just as the pond path and woods hold the vibrations of the water-into-ice-into-air spun through the breeze inside the arc of the sky over Walden Pond.
And the vibration is harmony.
* Walden: The Pond in Winter. Thoreau, H. D.