December 21st, 2014

bridal veil falls - north carolina

Winter Solstice - New Moon -

I wake at 4 after going to bed at midnight.  I am awake, aware of transition, newness, the turning toward young light that will claim more space as the new year turns in each of us.  What do we notice?  Tonight, even the moon is new, is dark.

I am reading a book, The End of Night, Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light by Paul Bogard.

He begins with a quote by Wendell Berry:

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark.  Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

My book group met in the city Friday and spent the night in San Francisco in a hotel at Union Square.  It seemed quiet, subdued, and yet, young people were spending the night outside the Nike store, lined up against the building on the sidewalk.  Some had chairs and many had blankets.  It seems some had been there two  nights.  Why?  New shoes were being released.  Who knew?

And yet, even there, there was a quiet, a reverence.  I wonder if even in Las Vegas, a place that shoots light into the sky, the same is true.  We feel the dark as it blooms and sings.  We honor what we cannot see but feel.  I feel myself open, beckon, allow.  There is surrender.  I bow, grateful for this moment, the next.   I am grateful that I've lived 65 years.  I am grateful for this solstice, for this new moon, for blessings opened and blessings shared.
Bald Eagle

Perspective -

I'm cooking today, recipes from the past to entertain old friends, when my neighbor knocks on the door.  Her husband's father, who lives an hour north of Boise, had a stroke and was air-lifed to a hospital in Boise; surgery has been performed, and all is currently unknown.  This is a healthy guy, retired, active, still skiis, builds his own planes, just passed his physical to be able to fly, and ...

My intention has been awareness and appreciation this holiday season, and this still gave me a jolt.  Can I be a little more mindful, a little more aware, with each plate I lift, each spoon, each step, and can I nourish and nurture contact, contact, contact with those I care for and love?  May this be so, and may my neighbor's father be A-Okay!  May this be a wake-up call for us all.