We gather to pray for the return of the light. Teetering on the thin edge of light, entering fully into the darkness, there is no way out but through. Each year, we wrestle with this unwilled descent into shadow, each alone with it, facing down our individual darknesses.
And yet, we can, and we do, gather to pray for the return of
light, for lightness of heart, for the luminescence of a full-throated summer
sun, for a light spirit treading lightly in the world.
We cherish and trim our candles, and hold them high in the
darkness. In this hearth-keeping, this light-kindling, we feel a long
connection with women down through the ages who have worked, mightily, to do
the same for the ones they love, and for themselves. And the light does not, did
not, illuminate only—no, it throws off warmth as well, to thaw the deep chill
and unfreeze the mind.
I wish so fervently to nourish an illuminating, warming life
force in myself, to fan it into a bright flame, letting it penetrate all my
being and all my doing, and then to project it bravely beyond myself. I pray
for the return of the light, in my world and in the world.
Mary for the Poplar Grove Muse
from Our Solstice Sampler, December 19, 2013
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