The Light Returns: The Winter Solstice

Tonight marks the longest night of the year; henceforth, all nights will gradually shorten, letting light overrule darkness.  It is a joyous night of celebration; echoes of the pagan feasts of this night leaking into Christmas traditions. Yule logs, live trees brought indoors, the exchange of gifts- these aren't Christian inventions but older...much older.

The joy of light. The promise of the surrender of the night.  Our ancient kin understood the symbology and the reality: Spring to come, food to be grown, harvest to be enjoyed.  And the Christian architects understood the symbology too; light overcoming darkness.  Christ overcoming sin.  Hark! the Herald Angels Sing!

It is easy to be happy on a night like this. It is easy to find optimism.  But this is only half the story; half the year.  The key is to find joy in the darkness too.  To understand that happiness must be balanced with pain and sorrow to have it retain meaning.

When we ache, it is hard to remember that there is still promise of Joy. Optimism retreats. We cannot see that it is cyclical. A phase.  A season. Time heals.  AND light returns.

That is the promise of the Solstice...The Light returns. The Shadows are banished.

And so, celebrate my friends!  Not just this night, but on the darker nights that undermine our souls.  The Light will return.  In this life or beyond it.  The Light will return!!

Thank you, gracious readers, for your company this past year.
With joy I honor your essence! May blessings be yours.

The Flooded River; the Full Cold Moon

The flooded river moves muddy and fast; I struggle to not be swept downstream as those around me do as well.  The river is crowded, overflowing with human bodies and we all fight and cling to any foot hold, any twig, anything solid and rooted.  We are tired but still swimming, giving it all our might, all of our heart. What choice do we have?  We do not want to be swept downstream...

As we bump and dislodge each other, we lose focus of the truth so painfully evident to any outside observer: We do not need to stay in the river.  

WHAT? leave the river?  But that is where all the action is! That is where the ego is stroked. That is where my friends and family are. Isn't that "life"?

No. It is an illusion. A trap created by our need to be important, special, unique, praised...blah, blah, blah...
We fight each other for space, using judgements to gain illusory footholds.  

Although we are really born to this muddy water; Providence, Effort and Practice can elevate us to the stable bank.  We must each latch onto the truths that have always been in the raging water with us.  Truths such as equality. Truths such as our unavoidable deaths.  The truths of how we crave and how we cling.  My Buddhist would call these dukkha, but I'm inclined to refer to it more as the BS we've been taught is reality.  

Many of us turn from the truths, wishing to remain in the muddy raging water where success is defined tangibly and failure is punished.  In the river, we are "somebody"; on the banks we are no one.  

I have been on the bank before; but the edges erode easily and the bank dwellers must be ever so careful of their grounding.  Once thrown back into the river, it is easy to lose the truth.  There is pleasure in being "good";  pride in being "clever".  The mud blinds and the bodies around us twist and poke.  Survival becomes its on force and we move downstream, further from nirvana, as we pretend we are happy.  

It is Hell.

Grace be given, we climb again to the banks, wonder why we couldn't see the reality of our situation before and watch with compassion as our brother and sisters flail.  Why not help them?  Because truth can not be taught, it must be seen. And as more people leave the river, arriving on the banks, the water will calm and truth will be more evident. Without the raging bodies, the river will settle and even the most earnest of egos will see their illusions torn away.

I write this blog for me as a warning.  I know the river too well...
The bank is more unfamiliar.  But we have all felt the firm footing in moments of peace. In moments where another's joy is more important than our own.

If I have any Christmas spirit to spread, it is this invitation:
Leave the river.  The hustle and bustle of the Season flood it further.  Come, my friends, join me on this stable bank.  There is space for everyone.

A Flurry of Fun!

Over Thanksgiving, my daughter, husband and I ventured into the college town near us for some holiday meandering and window shopping.  One store drew my daughter in, and of course, hubby and I followed.  The store in question was a wonderland of Christmas hoopla; I immediately eyed a garland of intricate paper snowflakes.  Beneath it was a 'kit' to purchase to make your own spectacular garland.

A Flurry of Fun! read the caption on the $16.95 kit.  Hmmmm. I pondered.  Hubby has not been so pleased with my recent spending, perhaps I could save money and get a beautiful snowflake garland?  My daughter confirmed my impulse by stating she was thinking of getting the same kit because the garland was so pretty.   Aha!  The garland had twenty-some hipster potential!  And it was affordable.  I snatched one to my breast as if hordes were beating a path to it.

I could barely contain my glee as I purchased the kit.  I knew my husband's schedule and was aware of a window of time. Perfect!  I would put on some carols, get a glass of wine and build an amazing snowflake vine.  Jingle bells....

It started out on a good note.  I punched my snowflakes out of the pre-scored paper.  I sang along to Johnny Mathas and Nat King Cole.  Then good vibe screeched to a halt.  Apparently, I needed 'glue dots'.  Everything you need to build a garland excluded glue.  

I wondered if we had any glue.  Looked around. Nope.  Not even in the kitchen drawer.

Aha! I had two sided tape upstairs!  Hurray! Snowflake opulence was back on schedule.

Or so I thought.  I made three snowflakes wrong wondering why it didn't look like the lovely kit graphic.  Fourth snowflake was good, but the carols had to go.  After finding better lighting and reading glasses, I managed six decent snowflakes.  But I was done.  My head hurt and they were not looking magical and intricate.  No. My first thought was that these frozen crystals were born in radioactive water. Lumpy. Weird. Ugly.

A flurry of fun?  Ummmm. No.

But another glass of wine seems like a mighty fine idea....


  

Waiting; The New Cold Moon

I wait for what I will never have
unsure of how to even call it near

the echos of Thanksgiving retreat
split time between melancholy and laundry
searching for what might engage
eyes spy Christmas lights, boughs of green
harbingers of the advent scene
they lift me for a moment
but they are wound in a carol 
promise of friends and good cheer 

(a vision that has yet to ever appear)

still, I trust in tradition to guide me through
and open my wallet to shiny and new
'perfect' gifts to buy me love
the cash registers sing 
and offer a ring
so angel's get their wings

and I sit almost alone
if you can call a hot holiday beverage a friend
amid a throng of almost alone strangers
fondling their own warm friends
bags piled near our feet
all hopeful that this year 
we can actually buy
what we need

so, I wait for what I will never have
but I do know its name...

Unconditional Love

Thanksgiving: the Waning Crescent Beaver Moon

I stare at the dead bird in my sink, water cascading over its rubbery bald breast.  This bird came to me 'organically'; it spent its days free ranging at a local farm, eating organic vegetarian turkey chow. It spent its days growing in the sunlight and in the rain.  It spent its days living.  

But no more. I wonder if it was unsuspecting when rustled to slaughter.  Did it know that all its days were spent making my family and I one meal?  

This is our first organic, local turkey; despite preparing Thanksgiving dinner for over a quarter of century. The large frozen turkey-shaped blocks have been my staple for years. They did not run free, eat yummy turkey snacks.  These birds were raised in a cage, fed beef and chicken byproducts, given hormones to make them large and antibiotics to fight off the innumerable outbreaks of bacteria.  BUT they spent their days living.

No more. These birds are in some other house, some other sink, being hosed down as well.

I look at the empty cavity and feel an ache.  My heart is as empty as this bird and I wonder where I can find a recipe to fill it.  The turkey's stuffing is on the stove, ready to shove into its cavernous hole; but where can I find some warm and nutritious filling for my own vacancy?  

I sigh and let my mind move forward to the meal; the warmth of familial love is a blessing I can not take lightly. The bounty of food that will fill our bellies and spill into tupperware for numerous more meals is a gift that is not to be understated.  The hearth fire, where I will drop my overstuffed self to rest, is HOME in all senses of the word.  My tummy will feel swollen and uncomfortable, but a walk will set it right.  And then, we can begin again with sandwiches and pie...

I have love. I have food. I have shelter.  I have health.

Yet, the emptiness remains...fully of my own making; a luxury of my comfortable life. It is a puzzle to unravel over many future moons until one day I heal the wounds of my own knife.  And on that day I shall rejoice.

But for TODAY, I will pause and acknowledge every last blessing that has come my way, deserving or not. For today, I will be thankful. Truly thankful. For I am blessed.

I start by bowing to my dead friend in the sink.  Namaste, Turkey. 
AND continue by bowing to you...
May blessings be yours.

Darkness; the New Beaver Moon

The night has been dark.

I woke from a nightmare last night with a start. They say you can't die in your dream, but I was doing just that. I woke in the blackness, unsure. Then my partner made his unique snort purr and I knew it was not death...just darkness. Heavy.  Heavy darkness.

The night has been long.

Daylight savings time ended; the morning is more hopeful, but dusk circles early and captures us unprepared.  I am eating too much, like a bear preparing to hibernate.  Although I am in a nesting mode, I am also sleeping too much.  I am fidgety, waiting, restless.  

I am beaver. 

Hurrying to make my home winter friendly, safe, secure, warm.  Scurrying to find the comfort and joy in the coming cold and dark months.  This moon and the following Cold moon are the darkest in the year; daylight is still decreasing as the air grows chillier.  Perhaps that is why the solstice was celebrated so joyfully.  The promise of light overpowering darkness. Who couldn't find joy in that?

But first, we must prepare...

Found you! The Full Hunter Moon

I could not find this moon in my heart or in words.  

I could not find this moon in my actions. Just blind forward progress, for progress sake.  Stay busy. One step ahead of a creeping malaise.

The muse did not whisper in my ear.  The clever metaphor remained dusty and unused...probably in my disorganized kitchen drawer...resting near that extra piece of my last assembly project.  Nothing is more unsettling as an extra piece...where on earth does it belong?

I did not find this moon...

But it found me all the same.  Bright. Ridiculously bright.  Her lighthouse beacon scoured the surface of the earth, unyielding to mountains, flooding valleys.  Her light finding me in the dark of night, in the woods, tree shadows making me feel small and alone.  Where on earth do I belong?

"Here",  she replies "and I will light your path before you."