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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