Perhaps it does not begin.
Perhaps it is always.
Perhaps it takes a lifetime to open our eyes, to learn to see what has forever shimmered in front of us the luminous line of the map in the dark the vigil flame in the house of the heartthe love so searing we cannot keep from singing, from crying out in testimony and praise.
Perhaps this day will be the mountain over which the dawn breaks.
Perhaps we will turn our face toward it, toward what has been always.
Perhaps our eyes will finally open in ancient recognition, willingly dazzled, illuminated at last.
Perhaps this day the light begins in us.
“Where the Light Begins”, by Jan Richardson
I found myself on this first day in the new year filled with a big dose of existential despair, completely frustrated by the collective shadow that’s been unleashed upon the world and feeling an overwhelming sense that something outside of myself had captured my inner light. I wasn’t able to sit down and write, so I distracted myself, and as we all know, distractions are easy to come by. First, I washed some dishes left in the sink from last night, then I put some laundry into the washing machine. Next I dusted my book shelves. I could faintly hear what Chögyum Trungpa Rinpoche called “subconscious gossip.” Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I pulled a few books of poetry off of the shelf and, as often happens, I found what I needed– Jan Richardson’s poem.
On a lower shelf I pulled out a book from one of my favorite authors, John Steinbeck. Coincidentally, I had recently read a posting on Brain Pickings (a newsletter I subscribe to) of an except from Steinbeck’s, A Life in Letters: …”Speaking of the happy new year, I wonder if any year ever had less chance of being happy. It’s as though the whole race were indulging in a kind of species introversion — as though we looked inward on our neuroses. And the thing we see isn’t very pretty… So we go into this happy new year, knowing that our species has learned nothing, can, as a race, learn nothing — that the experience of ten thousand years has made no impression on the instincts of the million years that preceded.” I couldn’t have better put into words what I was thinking. But Steinbeck’s words were written on Jan. 1, 1941.
Distracted by the intensity of the present moment and almost at the point of giving up hope, I sat down at my desk with writer and activist, Rebecca Solnit’s, Hope in the Dark. After reading a few chapters, I realized that it is at the very point of giving up hope that the real journey toward the light begins. Hope is a torch you can carry to bring light into the dark.
And finally, from an old notebook in which I keep random thoughts and quotations, I offer you a simple list of things, written by Parker Palmer, founder of The Center for Courage and Renewal, for finding a way forward in difficult times.
“Trusted friends with whom I can explore my feelings, no matter how dark.
Getting out into nature and being reminded by the life around me that this, too, is part of our world right now.
Sitting in silence for significant periods of time, allowing the roiled waters within me to settle and clarify.
Listening to good music.
Doing my best to tell and face the truth, the truth about myself and the world around me.”
2017 is going to be a challenging year in many ways. By coming out of the darkness and moving into our light, we can help others move more gracefully into theirs.
