Peek!

in the belly

Here we are, midway between the longest night and the day of balance. 

It is, Wikipedia tells me, one of the four Gaelic Fire Festivals, a cross-quarter day, one that slips in subtle between those conspicuous shortest, longest, and equal days.

Some say it is the true beginning of spring, and indeed, the longer light is calling forth the green, even through the windy snow and cold.

And for unfounded -- and unfound -- reasons (its rebirth as Candlemas, perhaps?), we made our candles for the year, all our birthdays and holy days, with two left over for bedtime.  We light them and sing -- anything from Pitty Patty Polt to This Little Light of Mine. 

Sometime soon I will find a bedtime song or verse, simple sweet and soothing, appropriate for sending little ones off to the waiting arms of angels.  But for now, If You're Happy and You Know It will do just fine.

 

on this the darkest

The sun rose without me, but yesterday's colors were still in my eyes.

The first of our feathered friends thumped in for the high holy days.  She showed no fear, visited with each of the children, and hopped from foot to foot on Asa's finger before she flew away. 

And even though there was too much grumpy and not enough sugar in the gingerbread, there were snowflakes, and solstice bells, and gray clouds blowing.

There was music today: songs about preparation and glory, darkness and light, eternal spirit.  Songs about Dinah's horn, and lights shining, and happy birthday to you.  Songs about angels and kings and mother and child.

And we walked toward the Light and carried it out again.  

Now is the solstice of the year, winter is the glad song that you hear.
(Jethro Tull)

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
(The Gospel of John 1:5)

advent the first

Today, it happened:  a prayer sung in a most ancient of ways.  One voice sang out, many voices answered.

There was groundwork: choir practice week after week, a workshop, a community sing (I am still honored that my friend brought her big and quirky presence to this sweet little place I live and worship).

There was practice:  for the last two Sundays, before the benediction, we jumped right into learning by listening, and I was carried by all the smiles I saw singing back with me.

There was a trial run:  at a Community Thanksgiving Worship Service (without the music played first, without the words in front of them), people from Methodist, Presbyterian, Brethren, and Episcopal churches sang “What We Need Is Here” and “O Thou, Sustainer.”   

And today, in church, in my church, this one I’ve known nearly all my life and am meeting new again, I sang out loud, and many voices answered.  

(That moment gets me every time.)

The bare doing of it is its own small victory, one I would never have thought to wonder about, much less ask for. 

And so the amazing, warm, open reception of this singing together is … beyond me to name.   These are words I’ve been given:  inspiring, comforting, moving, refreshing, deepening.

It just goes to show me what a continuous surprise the world can be.  It keeps me on my toes.  Be alert!

I do miss my friend Mark.  Because somewhere in all of this is an answer to the questions we burned into each other, questions I’ve forgotten the words to, except that one of them was contentment. 

bare bones

Hello, little blog and all you sweet people who read it. It's been some time, hasn't it?  And some time it's been.

We are across the sun from that glorious promise of Mayday, when I had not yet been to a singing workshop and felt all those vibrations shake cobwebs from my soul and whisper changes that are still rippling through and deep.

There has been Folklife, with a singsong campfire down at Mark's (these people were there in body and in heart). 

There has been a hurricane that blew the colors from the trees. 

And then broke the clouds.

There has been a Halloween tea, and a deep pride in my children, particularly the oldest, for agreeing to back up the hill from trick-or-treating and be excited and happy to make instead a circle around our own house, stopping at the door in each direction, for candy that came from their own stash.

There has been an election, watching the electoral college numbers climb with someone I couldn't have dreamed up in my wildest (and she even got to see the white cosmos).

There has been gathering, eating, singing. 

There have been cupcakes.

There has been conversation in different holy places about birth pangs and the shift into a new time.   How do we co-create, with God, with the Quantum Foam, this Earth to be a place of Unconditional Love?

It keeps coming back to that Love, and it keeps coming back to my own inner work, and it keeps coming back to aligning the two.

And it comes back again to getting out of my own head and remembering that others exist, and that Love grows when it is shared.

Let's sing together, shall we?