The Blessings which comes with the Longest Night
The Winter’s Solstice occurred this morning at 5:02 am! I know, I missed it! Yet somehow I knew it was happening...
It is like so many other invisible occurrences we are unable to mark with exactitude. It is like dawn, or sunset, or Jesus’ birth.
With apologies to scientists or wise ones who have all kinds of measurement instruments, I rather like this mystery.
After all we knew the days were growing shorter and hoped the cycle would revert toward more daylight. In fact we knew it would; the question was would we be there to witness it.
This year all of us carry some grief into Christmas. The Longest Night, which really happens in the wee hours of the morning!?, has been used by many to pause and collect sorrow and offer it into the hope of light to come.
We need to bless the sorrow in order to also know something of joy.
May we pause on this the shortest day of light and the longest night of darkness to welcome a holy light coming into the world regardless of astronomy.
Bless us everyone in our grief and in our anxiety that we might realize the blessing of joy.
Blessing for the Longest Night
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
—Jan Richardson
from The Cure for Sorrow
© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com (image also by Jan Richardson)
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