You know you’re present and alive when you are a Minnesotan instate in April. One day you hike two hours in a vast regional park that spans Dakota and Scott counties. You marvel at the prairies, the woods recently cleared of invasive undergrowth to reveal even more hidden ponds and lakes. Eagles and osprey fly overheard, equally thrilled to receive the sun on wings and heads.

The next day, in a complete turnabout, you don your father’s old parka because it’s still the warmest coat ever made – and besides, you can feel his arms around you when you wear it. Feet slip into heavy boots, and grippers cover the dog’s old paws to help her walk with unsteady and weak legs. You open the garage door to a blast of cold air and snow, snow everywhere. You step out into snow globe of mysterious and beautiful making. The songs of the red-wing blackbirds, fat little robins, and ever-present cardinals today sound plaintive and a bit frustrated. Why? the birdsong seems to ask. Why is this happening to us?

Interestingly, the blackbirds sit silently, huddled and cranky. That, too, makes me smile. I see it as a positive omen.

The weather whiplash invigorated me, even when I muttered under my breath about having to walk the 16-year-old pooch in thick snow. It tickled my sense of humor to be in hiking pants and a thin shirt one day and outfitted for the North Pole the next. It reminded me of hiking the Scottish Highlands with my friend Michele a few years ago in the month of August. Warned to dress for cool, wet weather the entire six days, we encountered 70-degree-plus sunshine most of them with only one downpour as we trudged along Loch Ness.

What has this got to do with anything? I understand your asking.

We’re alive, we’re aware, we’re awake. We can feel snowflakes and sunbeams on our faces if only we raise them to the sky. We still learn, work, meditate, pray, cook, clean, workout if we choose to in these times. We lug our elderly neighbors’ yard waste to the curb, shop for others, deliver meals while socially distancing.

Here’s the other thing. In the choice between saving lives and saving the stock market, we collectively chose life.

Because we did – and slowed the creeping threat we could not see or test - the economy now too will find life and already shows signs of it.

This is not to diminish the hardship, the loss of income, the closure of businesses, the need to teach your kids from home (much harder than we imagined, I hear and can imagine), the fear we face and may for some time. We’ve leaned our shoulders – primarily shoulder-to-shoulder – into this thing though. We stayed strong, and we stayed home. Through the miracle of technology, we talked to each other and hosted book clubs, Easter and Passover gatherings, and cocktail hours (some from coast-to-coast). We walked six feet apart, unrolled our mats and practiced with our favorite teachers and fellow yogis, and made discoveries about the lives (internal and external) of our pets, partners, and progeny.

Out of darkness and confusion, we walk toward light and clarity, filled with resolve, mature intelligence, and hope.

We will see you again – in person no matter how slowly – and soon.

And this ability of we humans to begin again and find new ways of being reminds us of these old lyrics: “Bye, bye, blackbird; blackbird, bye, bye.”

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Marcia Appel

In 2006, Marcia, a former journalist and corporate executive, wrote the plan that launched Green Lotus. In 2007, Green Lotus opened, and Marcia and business partner Merry Beth Hovey, who joined in 2009, planted the seeds of service that are the foundation of the Green Lotus philosophy. "As teachers and healers," Marcia says, "we meet students and clients where they are. We learn and grow from each other -- and have fun doing it."

Marcia's Musings