Watching the Fog Lift

Central Oregon recently experienced a few days of freezing fog. It was so dense it created small local snowfalls, made the road surfaces quite slick, and prevented planes from landing at our regional airport. More poetically, the fog seemed like celestial icy fingers reaching down to touch the earth while casting little diamonds upon the landscape. It was really quite beautiful—for a couple of days.

I have to admit freezing fog is my least favorite weather pattern, primarily because nothing moves; everything seems stagnant and static inside the crystalline beauty. I get a little grumpy if it persists. A couple of decades ago we had this icy expression for most of two months—Ugh! I prefer the kind of fog Carl Sandberg wrote about as coming in on little cat feet, sitting on silent haunches, and moving on. It is softer, less icy, and goes away.

Nevertheless, fog has its own urgings and manifests in myriad forms according to the conditions. I notice the natural world is not much bothered by my preferences. It is my own arrogance that complains about it. Tightly held preferences always get us into trouble whether it is weather or not. We lose flexibility in the need to remake life according to our wished for whims. A kind of fog descends upon our minds.

The Hsin-Shin Ming suggests “the great way is not difficult for one who has no preferences.” I think the intention is more like: “The great way is not difficult for one who is not overly attached to their preferences.” With practice, we may notice the fog naturally lifts in the light of our insight about not clinging too tightly. Contentment arises as the mental fog dissipates—even if the outer ice lasts for days.