Balance.

There is a dim flashlight under my left arm, and a jug of water and two leftover pancakes in that hand. These items somewhat balance the right hand's burden--another jug of water and two plastic cups filled with Sunshine brand dog food, the "Premium Formula in bite sized bits."

Rain, snow and sleet have been falling all day. I inch down the short path toward Apollo and Spanky like a tightrope walker.

Both feet go out from under me and the ice is hard. The poor dogs can't understand the four letter words I rarely use. The "quick and easy" chore done, I reload my arms for the much longer trip to the barn. I now carry a bucket of food scraps for the pigs, a bag of stale bread for the chickens, the stainless steel milk pail and of course, the flashlight under my arm. I walk slowly and carefully, grumbling about the weather, the poor light and my aging body.

The ability to maintain balance is a complex process. We rely on our feet and joints to tell us if the surface we are standing on is uneven or moving. We rely on our eyes to tell us if the environment around us is moving or still. And we rely on our inner ears to tell us if we are upright, leaning, standing still or moving.

In 1945, a British surgeon wrote, "The sense of balance is one of the most primitive faculties with which we are equipped, appearing in the biological scale before the senses of sight and hearing and possibly before the senses of taste and smell."

When all our senses work together in harmony with the brain and body, we have balance.

My senses are fine. My fall wasn't due to an infection in my ear, and only my pride was hurt. The swearing and complaints after the fall demand attention though. It's hard to see what lies ahead when your batteries are low. I need the recharging that comes from a warm April sun.

When the light is dim you need to look closer. It isn't really the seasons of time that bother me; it has been a long winter in many ways. I need balance of another kind.

Holistic therapies aim at achieving balance. I've tried them all. On a physical level, therapies such as chiropractic, massage, herbal medicine, yoga and Tai Chi have led toward balance of both the body and mind. On a spiritual level, I practice meditation and visualization, along with absorbing the words of ancient prophets and poets.

A Chinese symbol epitomizes balance, yin and yang. Pronounced "Yom wa yeu," yin-yang is balance, and can be recognized through opposites. Black and white. Male and female. Night and day. Life and death.

No lifestyle reflects this balance better than homesteading. For every swat by a urine-soaked tail or misstep into a cow flop, there is a first sprout in the garden or kitten in the barn.

Pure yin is founded on feeling secure, trusting. Pure yang is founded on feeling powerful, confident. Balance is attained through merging trust with confidence to achieve wholeness, to establish identity, Tai Chi.

I reach the barn, set down my load to open the door, and a large white rabbit appears inside my tiny circle of light. "Redeye" is a survivor of autumn's prison break which Spanky instigated the last time he was turned loose. I never tried to recapture the rabbits; and they run free. "Red" sniffs at the bag of food, then looks at me with ears laid back. I slowly extend a slice of bread.

Trust and confidence. The rabbit's ears stand tall and it nibbles at the crust. My inner scales tip toward balance.

KEITH BELLINGER RR 1 Box 690 WARREN CENTER, PA [e-mail]