Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice.
It’s dark. Really dark. And cold.
The sun, even when it comes up, skitters across the southern horizon. And then disappears.
Yet, next week, on December 21st, we celebrate the light.
It is the turning point.
From the very earliest of times, before tribe or tradition, we have confronted the darkness with trepidation – the darkness of the night, the darkness of our souls – and railed against it. Through liturgy ritual and celebration, we connected with the ancient rhythms of the earth to welcome light – and hope – back into the world.
For a fraction of a moment next week, the earth will stop – and shift on its axis – and turn again toward the sun.
It is the turning point.
In the busyness of your frantic, constantly connected, and over-stimulated lives, you can miss this moment. It is easy to forget why you run around, string lights, light candles, wrap presents, and gather together – and in the process end up empty, depleted, and sad.
It is easy to forget why we celebrate.
We celebrate the light. We celebrate in the deep knowing that the light always returns. We celebrate that the light always triumphs over the darkness.
Take a moment to stop this week. Reconnect with the ground – and with the Ground of All Being. Feel the earth turn back to the sun, back to the light.
It is the turning point.
Then decide.
What will you turn toward in the days and months ahead? What light will you discover in your life? What light will you shine in the lives of others?
Be that light.
And celebrate.
It is the turning point.