First, the poem, then something about it.
The Season of the Dark
This is the season of the dark.
It is not only the natural ebbing
of the year’s light that causes distress.
This dark has shadowed many lives
with difficult and deep times:
- broken bones;
- the death of a friend’s beloved;
- another’s home lost to fire.
A new normal descends, with needs for:
- walking carefully;
- hunkering down;
- exhaling pain and grief.
And what is happening in our small lives
mimics what is happening in the world
and to the earth.
But in my dreams:
- my hands turn towards healing;
- a whale approaches the sacred cliff;
- I bring flowers to a ritual.
The oracle advises yielding, and so I:
- move slowly;
- privilege the small;
- let the Ghost River carry me.
I have spent a lifetime
trying to change the mind that
equates dark with bad.
In this season of suffering,
that challenge more than abides.
Don’t tell me that
this will all pass:
- the darkness;
- the pain;
- the acute grief.
I know in my head that this is so,
at least for humans.
I do not know if it is true
for the world.
What I do know is that
I must follow the oracle and
attend to the dreams,
which tell me:
- to heal all that I can;
- to pray my way through;
- to offer flowers with respect and gratitude.
May we move through the dark
with a modicum of grace.
May we see what is precious
in the darkness and what
gestates here.
May the light return
in its season, for all.
