Kundalini Splendor

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.



This beautiful (and famous) poem by Robert Frost has an enduring attraction. it has been discussed, analyzed, and written upon by many critics, who offer various interpretations. Some believe it may be a poem about death--the speaker is drawn to the woods, so "lovely, dark, and deep" with an almost Freudian yearning for "thanatos". (Freud insisted that we are all constantly torn by contrary longings--for both death and eros (love, life spirit.) Others see Frost's poem as an expression of the desire to retreat from society, with all its demands and inconveniences, and devote oneself to the top personal priority (to "follow one's bliss" to the full.) And some see the poem as a literal decription of what might indeed have happened to a lone traveler crossing snow packed landscape into the nearby village, where human warmth and conviviality were waiting.

Whatever its ultimate "meaning" might be, the poem continues to haunt our imagination, drawing as it does on the almost archetypal images of traveler, journey, horse (companion spirit) and the lure of the unknown that threatens to distract us from our primary purpose. It calls to mind the inner loneliness that most of us feel when we pause from our daily round of activities and connect with the deep layers of consciousness, the realization that we are, in fact, alone in our journey, that our daily responsibilities are in a sense distractions to keep us from recognizing the final truth of our literal isolation in this world.

Yes, most of the time we feel connection--with spirit, with human love, with service and creativity. But still, there are moments--of silence, of not doing, of meditation itself--when we know in our deepest layers of being that our journey is in fact ours alone, that we are solitary pilgrims on an unmarked path, struggling toward a goal we cannot see.

This is why beginning meditators are often overtaken by sadness and discomfort, rather than joy, in their initial trials. Once the "busy mind" is stilled and the familiar routines halted, we come face to face with the naked self--and this encounter can be rather overwhelming, for we often do not recognize this stranger within.

But, having noted all of this, there is, I think, no need to fall into despair. Life is, if nothing else, a journey of faith, a constant advance into mystery and surprise.

Frost says in another poem that news has come forth: "Word that I was in my life alone/Word I had no one left but God." Indeed, I think this observation is worth deep consideration. When all else fails or fades, when life itself seems of little worth, we can still experience that which never betrays or leaves. And those of us who know or have known the affirmation of Kundalini ("God moving through your body") will be more likely to persist and maintain inner stability even as the world crashes down around us. There is an outer reality and also an inner truth. Both worlds are real. We must not lose sight of either one, for we are compounded of both the dark source that is "lovely, dark and deep" and the bright company of the human village,the unknown and the known, the familiar and the hidden.