It’s winter solstice, one of the holiest days of the year. Scrub out the debris from your inbox, your closet, your spirit, your mind. Make an intention and align it with this evening’s new moon in make-it-happen Capricorn. Invite Uranus’ blue bolts of lightening into those plans; smile broadly at the unexpected. Tap the power of Venus, newly reborn in the sky after regenerating her values. Bask in the embrace of dear Mama Mary. Open your heart to receive grace (prosperity, beauty, big-scale love). Bring gratitude, generosity, and faith to your daily practice, whatever that may be. Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Joyously. Here’s to more light in our countries, our cities, our hearths, our hearts.
This time of year there is so little natural light that many wake hours before the sun and work hours after it descends. But we living creatures can adjust to anything, even find solace in it. The intimacy, the privacy granted by these dark hours in early morning: it’s time for settling back into pillows with quieter projects, hot drinks steaming cold rooms, small lights casting out still-prevailing nights. Well. Such time is to be cherished once we adjust to its protocol. We grasp why this is the holiest time of year, why we make festivals for these lights. With their help, into the mystic we sail–for a few hours at a time, at least.
I’ve been quiet because sometimes social media doesn’t feel like the ideal place to work through the inequities strangling our culture. I’ve been quiet because I don’t want a comment on Facebook or Twitter to make me feel that I’ve done my part. I’ve been quiet because I want to receive the best information I can about how this 40something lady can be of use before I start adding my voice to the conversation. But my quiet has nothing to do with my dissociation from the injustices coming to our attention. I pray we all can take action on the (cellular, systemic) levels on which true change can take place–and I join my heart with all who are already lending their bodies and voices to this struggle, as well as with the many who have lost their loved ones, their lives, their faith.
It’s winter solstice, one of the holiest days of the year. Scrub out the debris from your inbox, your closet, your spirit, your mind. Make an intention and align it with this evening’s new moon in make-it-happen Capricorn. Invite Uranus’ blue bolts of lightening into those plans; smile broadly at the unexpected. Tap the power of Venus, newly reborn in the sky after regenerating her values. Bask in the embrace of dear Mama Mary. Open your heart to receive grace (prosperity, beauty, big-scale love). Bring gratitude, generosity, and faith to your daily practice, whatever that may be. Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Joyously. Here’s to more light in our countries, our cities, our hearths, our hearts.
This time of year there is so little natural light that many wake hours before the sun and work hours after it descends. But we living creatures can adjust to anything, even find solace in it. The intimacy, the privacy granted by these dark hours in early morning: it’s time for settling back into pillows with quieter projects, hot drinks steaming cold rooms, small lights casting out still-prevailing nights. Well. Such time is to be cherished once we adjust to its protocol. We grasp why this is the holiest time of year, why we make festivals for these lights. With their help, into the mystic we sail–for a few hours at a time, at least.
I’ve been quiet because sometimes social media doesn’t feel like the ideal place to work through the inequities strangling our culture. I’ve been quiet because I don’t want a comment on Facebook or Twitter to make me feel that I’ve done my part. I’ve been quiet because I want to receive the best information I can about how this 40something lady can be of use before I start adding my voice to the conversation. But my quiet has nothing to do with my dissociation from the injustices coming to our attention. I pray we all can take action on the (cellular, systemic) levels on which true change can take place–and I join my heart with all who are already lending their bodies and voices to this struggle, as well as with the many who have lost their loved ones, their lives, their faith.