This month’s blog is written by BPS member Jennifer Sorensen.
A canyon year.
A tightrope year.
An acrobat year in an empty tent.
Evidence that time is not a line
but a pool
and we are swimming in it alone
stressed, over-drunk explorers,
observant, this year, of the purple lips on the weeds beside our homes
the flowering bud held sacred within its green praying hands.
Hallelujah to the pregnant seed.
This a December when the candle is held by tight hands in the wind.
The train arrives as usual and carries its passengers in more quiet.
December 8th: Bodhi Day, the celebration of Buddha’s enlightenment.
December 10th: Hanukkah, a festival of lights and a commemoration of Jewish history.
December 21st: Winter solstice, pagan festivals that mark the turn of the darkest day in this dark year.
Dec 25th: Christmas, rebirth and giving.
Dec 31st: we pretend things change and start all over again.
There’s no stopping the train.
What do we celebrate?
How do we honour?
Candles, dance, gifts, reverie?
our frankincense and myrhh.
Our torch to idea,
holding glass to the sun so long
We all do this in our kaleidoscope ways.
Hold a glass to the sun.
Be a glass to the sun.
holding glass to the big beyond
to the ocean light that touches the inside seed
Or that we touch
Pulling to leave us with the golden sunset yearning
for what else?
for what love?
The darkest month.
The treasure chest month.
And poetry sitting inside us too like that secret seed,
like the thousand Christmas lights on a suburban lawn.
Be the single clean shirt in the laundromat
just when I thought
I had nothing to wear.
Quite apart from these words to honour poetry, the season, and this difficult year…
May I add too a mindfulness that many have lost much this year; loved ones, employment, friendship, value, safety.
So I add a reverent prayer for those who have endured losses of any kind.
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