Yesterday was Groundhog Day (and also the birthday of one of my oldest friends).  It's a day buried deep in ancient European belief and lore, a day of reckoning, a day that marks the approximate midway point (otherwise known as Beltane; or, from a Celtic standpoint, Imbolc) between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox.  It is, as those who live through cold and snowy winters, the point at which, maybe, just maybe, things are on the upswing, and that, going forward, the earth is closer to spring than winter.

     Today, we know much more about the weather than our ancestors.  We can predict its trends far more effectively.  Most of the time, this is good.  On the other hand, with each new statistic and predictive instrument we devise and use, we put one more layer between us and our world.  We're perhaps safer and better prepared, yes, but we are not necessarily better off.  We forget what the world is like.  We fail to remember our deepest roots, we overlook the beauty of the rhythms with which our planet breathes.
     And maybe in so doing, we forget that we live in a reality whose meaning does not cconsist in our ability to tame and conquer it, but rather in our willingness to submit to and acknowledge its mysteries.  And to learn that, finite that we be, we will never fully outwit that which we did not make.

     We learn to open our eyes.