Thursday, December 20, 2018



This Christmas I am more mindful of the dark than I am of the light.  It could be because the misery quotient has risen so precipitously for the whole planet over the past two years.  And I am bewildered to see so many of my friends, family, and acquaintances suffering from unnamed struggle, difficulty, and depression.  We all try to put a brave face on it, but there is pall cast across the land like a dark veil covering the casket of some brave and inspiring leader whose name we cannot even recall.  We have buried too many leaders, too many soldiers, too many friends over the past few recent years. 

We have buried too many gurus, too many teachers, too many healers, too many shamans – so that we have become determined to guide, to teach, to heal, and to inspire ourselves and each other . . . in their stead.  I remember how excited we were to step into this critical role and this important understanding, along with a fragment of fear about what we had signed up for.  For many of us now, that fragment of fear has swollen into something sinister, swollen from the tears of the forgotten and abandoned.

I remember how fearlessly we streamed across the threshold to stake our claim to assume our birthright to being the way-showers for the new age, the new earth, dare I say? The reign of Christ on Earth?  And now, just six years on, I wonder how long the time will stretch until we can fully spring off of the diving board that is still solidly anchored in the old paradigm.  And how sure of a leap will we achieve from that board that is so anchored on a failing and rotting foundation? 

I am mindful to the time at the nexus of the Winter’s Solstice when the sun has reached its absolute most southern clime – and we could not possibly become any colder, at that point where the sun stops for a quick breath, perhaps a rest before he decides if he will return again, or not.  Will this be the year the sun refuses to come back?  What will happen if we have lost the heart to howl like wolves – to call back our father sun? 

The sun has no doubt overheard our whining and our commiserating and he could take our lead and refuse to rise to the occasion.  Did our ancestors encourage this fear every year so the children would be sure to howl more loudly – out of fear if not out of hope?

The children.  Those with which we are left.  I pray to them that they will yell and cheer and beseech the sun to return.  Because I am weary.