The Symbolism of Snow
Introduction
Snow is in part a symbol of cooling Yin energy.
And of course it is associated with Winter
But in Mystic symbolism it refers principally
to the last third stage of the Spiritual Path
Purification
Rather than complicate this video
by trying to describe
Purification and Snow at the same time
We have left the video simple
so that you can enjoy the music, video and images
As well as some of the beautiful visions and poetry
that uses snow as a symbol.
Needless to say a Snowman
is a symbol of this Purification process
The Voyages of Saint Brendan
A Journey to the Promised Land
translated from the Latin by John J O’Meara
THE ISLAND OF PAUL THE HERMIT
Paul the Hermit was entirely covered by his hair
from his head and beard and other hair down to his feet,
and all the hair was white as snow ...
They could see only his face and eyes.
He had no other clothing on him
except the hair that grew from his body.
When Saint Brendan saw this he was discouraged within himself and said:
'Alas for me who wears a monk’s habit
and have many owing allegiance to me by virtue of being monks:
Here I see sitting before me a man already in the angelic state,
untouched by the vices of the body,
although he is still in human flesh’.
From Ruth Montgomery - A Gift of Prophecy
The Holy Mother's face came alive
and the most magnificent sunshine that I had ever seen
flooded down from the dome of the church.
It was a dark, stormy morning outside
and the church was virtually empty, but suddenly
brilliant rays shone on every imaginable people and religion.
The cathedral overflowed with peasants and babushkas,
kings and queens in royal raiment,
the rich and poor of every nationality and creed.
I could not see a single vacant pew.
Everyone was bathed in the same sunshine,
and I seemed to be standing on something
as soft as new-fallen snow.
A remarkable peace overcame me ...
The vision slowly faded, but the memory remained vivid.
Max Freedom Long - Recovering the Ancient Magic
My first dream was one in which I wandered afar
and came into a field of virgin snow of incredible whiteness.
As I gazed at snow which could be so very white,
I suddenly became a living part of the whiteness of the snow.
In that state I was part of a whiteness, the utter perfection of which
made the other snow of my dream muddy and impure -
at least it seemed so to me ever afterward
when I compared the visual sensation
with the sensation of being whiteness itself.
During the time of being whiteness, I lost all memory
of the small boy in the bed.
When I awoke I attempted to describe my dream.
In this I failed and fell into confusion.
No one seemed to understand so simple a matter
as that I had not seen the whiteness or felt it with my hands
or with any other part of me.
I explained over and over that I "turned into whiteness"
- which was exactly the sensation I remembered.
While I was that whiteness I was not aware of feeling any size.
I was not in a place.
I had no feeling of time,
and so could not say how long the wonderful dream had lasted.
I was very sure that I had not become snow
for the simple reason that I had felt neither hot nor cold,
softness nor wetness.
My last sorrowful words usually were, as I remember them:
"No, it was not like any of that.
I just turned into all the loveliest and whitest whiteness there is”.
Emily Bronte - The Visionary
Silent is the house; all are laid asleep
One alone looks out o'er the snow wreaths deep
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift and bends the groaning trees
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor
Not one shivering gust creeps through the pane or door
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far;
I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding star ...
What I love shall come, like visitant of air
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare
What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay
Burn then little lamp; glimmer straight and clear
Hush a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air;
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me
Strange Power, I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy
William Seabrook - Asylum
It was snowing outside the big windows;
it was peaceful and warm inside.
I was listening to muted Siegfried and Valhalla motifs
symphonic Rheingold excerpts coming from Carnegie Hall,
tuned low, on the radio
- this, may have been the fortuitous trigger
- when I began to find myself interiorly illumined
with a sort of mystical, exaltation ...
It was as if a veil, or scum or film had been stripped
from all things visual and auditory,
or as if the world had been suddenly diffused
with a soft, unearthly, revealing light.
I was sitting close to the radio,
and. was almost afraid to lift my head or move,
for fear it all would fade.
The colours in the carpet at my feet
were abnormally vivid and made harmony.
Four or five fellow-patients were scattered round the big room.
I looked at their faces.
Their faces too were diffused with kindly, human light
even the face of one I had disliked,
now wondering why, for he was now my brother.
Some minutes had passed, but the illusion still persisted.
It had not flashed, fleeting. It was still there.
I took stock of it. I realized that it was wonderful.
I got up and walked over to the window.
But the big, bare trees against the white snow
in the falling darkness seemed of an unearthly,
almost holy beauty.
The thing still persisted.
I felt mildness and goodness
and child-like wonder within myself.
At supper, I scarcely noticed my companions.
I was absorbed, not knowing whether to be pleased or not,
with a further phase of what I began to think might be an authentic
“mystical illumination” - dry, fresh bread, a piece of boiled potato,
even the water, but particularly a scrap of plain,
unbuttered bread, had a taste that was
- ridiculously delicious, heavenly.
... some leaves of lettuce with no dressing were as good to me
as they would have been to a rabbit.
And I felt good and happy, though slightly puzzled about it.