I cannot tell you
how the light comes.
What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.
That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.
That it loves
searching out
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.
That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
toward flesh
for tracing the edges
of form
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.
I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.
And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still
to the blessed light
that comes.
by Jan Richardson
A fitting poem for this dark time of the year here in the northern hemisphere, by the artist, writer, and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church Jan Richardson. As I look out into the dark and cold evening, I have a clear sense of why light has been such a powerful metaphor through the ages and across cultures, especially in parts of the world where there is a period in the year with not much of it. And so, particularly if 2021 has been a year you have experienced as a difficult one, I wish you much lightness and brightness in the one to come. And I’m curious about what possibilities and opportunities each of us have of ‘turning ourselves towards’ the light, of ‘lifting our faces to let it find us’ and opening more and more to it. And then to recognise those opportunities, and act on them…
PS And if you feel the possibility of practising together with others may help, there are a lot of opportunities for that! And if finances have been an obstacle in accessing the course you’d like to join, there’s a warm welcome to pay what you can. For more info see here!
Photo by Cristofer Maximilian on Unsplash
