Making Footprints in the Snow

Perhaps there are seasons when nothing appears to be happening; when the brush lies still, the canvas remains blank, and even the words refuse to come. We mistake these moments for failure because we have been taught to measure life by what we produce.

Yet perhaps Life has simply lowered its voice.

Over the years I have noticed that these quiet seasons can become dangerous ones. They are the times when the spirit feels dormant and the mind seems to retreat into hibernation. The days become repetitive, especially for those whose lives leave little room for music, art, writing, or any form of self-expression. The body feels heavy for no obvious reason. Motivation slips away. The world loses some of its colour.

I suspect very few of us escape these periods entirely.

As I grow older, I have learned not to fight them quite so fiercely. Instead, I have begun looking backward—not to escape the present, but to rediscover conversations I had forgotten.

This morning I reached for one of my old sketchbooks.

It was dated 1983, drawn shortly after my return from the Aleutian Islands to Green Bay, Wisconsin. As I turned the yellowing pages, I realized that a younger version of myself had been waiting over forty years to continue a conversation I did not even know we had begun.

Hidden among fading sketches was this passage.

Making Footprints in the Snow

To make the next, one has to act, become in motion,

To act selflessly with disregard for your self-esteem,

Spontaneous in effect, free and flowing, fluid and gentle,

Without thoughts and consciousness.

One step forward like a brook making its way to the ocean,

That is life.

Effortlessly, effortlessly, effortlessly,

One foot at a time.

---

"What do you think of the Nuclear Syndrome, Master?" I asked Him.

"The refrigerator has an efficient thermostat in order to make it properly functional," He said.

"Are you suggesting that the Nuclear Syndrome is a sort of thermostat in human evolution?"

"First came the Ice Age, then the Age of the Dinosaurs, Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan... every human era has been marked by one catastrophe or another."

"So what do we do to avoid this vicious repetition of history?"

"At the precipice we will change in order to survive. Breathe and take in a good gulp of fresh air, then tell me if you truly wish to end all of this. Take a gulp of cold cranberry juice and tell me if you want it all to evaporate into nothingness. For as long as you breathe in and out, you will keep making the next footprint in the snow."

---

Reading these words today, I smiled.

I had forgotten writing them, yet somehow they had remained faithful to me.

Perhaps our old journals are not records of who we once were.

Perhaps they are letters addressed to the person we are still becoming.

Perhaps the younger self occasionally reaches across the decades to remind the older one that he has already survived many winters, and that all that is required now is the courage to make one more footprint in the snow.

One step.

Then another.

Effortlessly.

Wallahu A'lam.

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