Today is Blue Christmas! Enjoy this post by Kate Kennington Steer —
‘I follow light’
This darkness is a rope, not a prison:
hand over hand I haul myself in
to touch your face, to blossom.
My fingers crawl toward heaven
leaving behind whorling shadows;
this darkness is a rope, not a prison.
I follow light through forgotten
canyons and grottos;
I touch your face and know
that even the sun has a mission:
as it climbs, it grows.
This darkness is a rope, not a prison
not a cell from which I hasten.
Freely, hand over hand I follow
to touch your face, to open and open
like a night-blooming jasmine,
or a well widening with echoes:
this darkness is a rope, not a prison,
I touch your face, I blossom.
‘The Gift’
Maurya Simon
Today I remember those who feel imprisoned – by a physical cell; by the shadow of abuse; by a mind differently wired that keeps defaulting to negative, obsessive or paranoid places; by the failings of bones or blood, synapses or nerves.
Today I remember those who are incapable of saying for themselves, “help me”.
Today I remember those who have no glimmer there is a God who is loving them in their darknesses; I remember those who cannot say ‘this darkness is a rope, not a prison’ for themselves, who have no idea of how to ‘follow light’, grow away from the bleak places in their lives.
Today I remember those who feel utterly stuck, uncreative, trapped, who feel they cannot ever blossom into myriad ‘hues hewn from hurt’, to use Keren Dibbens-Wyatt’s beautifully evocative phrase.
Today I remember all those who long for meaning, who long for light to emerge out of the dark places in our world and for those who become overwhelmed; all those for whom Christmas cannot be an occasion for celebrating ‘Joy to the world’.
Bringing all these little ones, and myself, before our God, I remember Rumi’s observation: ‘those receiving light give out light’.
May I offer my light freely – the unique light God gave to each of us, that is light like no other – today.
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
‘Blessing for the Longest Night’
Jan Richardson