i found myself sobbing in central park last friday. big, loud walloping sobs as i plodded through the falling snow.
and it felt so damn good.
i cry often in new york. at the most inopportune times. in the strangest--and most public--of places. my saving grace is that i'm a quiet crier. small, silent tears.
but on friday, in the park, amongst all that snow and white and absolute quiet i unleashed some powerful sobs. it seemed safe there. as though all that space and white would quickly swallow them up.
it wasn't a sadness that prompted the tears. well, yes, i suppose it was sadness. but it was the sadness of someone else. a stranger. and a stunning display of humanity that i wasn't meant to see. and that person's unfurling stirred my own residual silt. and just exactly as new york was transformed into a snow-globe, i witnessed my own inner swirling. of past emotions--failings and frustrations and countless mistakes. and it seemed so dirty this inner silt. so dark, so different than the the white before me, the white beneath my feet.
but as i walked, and as i sobbed, i felt the dark pieces fall out of me. and no, i didn't look back. but i knew. knew the snow swallowed them whole.
for me snow, more than anything else, is about healing and rebirth.