On the darkest night

spoken word

Dear Readers,

If you’ve been here for some time - you may have read this piece before - today I bring it to you in a spoken word format.

Here in the northern hemisphere today marks the longest night of the year - for a moment it as if the sun retreats even further, immovable for days and then slowly turns back towards us.

Winter can be a difficult season for the heartbroken and weary. This time of year is heavy with the absence of light and in the darkness our sorrows and fears are louder.

While spoken word and tea talks are usually for paid subscribers only, I am giving you all this spoken word project to bring a little light in on this, the darkest day of the year.

This Sacred Life

do you ever think about what a gift it is to lay in bed, 
sweaty bodies not quite touching, a child sprawled out 
in the corner of the bed who crawled in before the sun 
rose because she didn't want to sleep alone.

strawberry seeds mashed in your teeth, lips stained summer
red with raspberries and blueberries too

to drink in the great starry sky you need eyes, yes, and a heart too.
grateful eyes that can see there's a beauty to the pain of 
being alive because my God is it painful to be alive some days.
there are broken hearts, cancerous tumors, graveyards of memories
       and yet here you are somehow, feeling it all.

feeling the wind on your cheeks and tiny fingers curled in your hair
as the baby falls asleep on your lap. feeling the weight of loss, pulling
your heart down
                    down
                      down to depths you didn't know were possible.

feeling the cool air that comes with the first snowfall 
and the warmth of a hot cup of tea in your own calloused hands.

maybe we come here to eat fruit and hold hands.

maybe there’s more to it than that.

but maybe just feeling grateful for its holiness - the simple sacred
of lungs filling with oxygen produced by green leaves consuming the sun.

plants and algae, even bacteria dissolving carbon dioxide 
into oxygen so that you, yes you, can breathe.

can you thank God for that?  because that's a miracle. 
you are the miracle with your tired feet and aching knees,
the ragged sound of your own worn out breath moving
in and out the sacred sweet lungs that you were born with. 

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If you need some other hope filled reading for this time of year, here are a few more lyrical essays you may enjoy revisiting: