Oh Holy Week

 

That night, we dreamed the journey

~Joyce Sidman

Here we are at my favorite week of the year. More favorite even than my birthday week which is saying a lot. It's not because it is the week before Christmas, though that plays a part. The true roots of this love predate the church; they grow from the ground of the earth herself, for this is Winter Solstice week. Where I live this is when the cold really arrives, and with it, rain, if we are lucky, and thick fog that blankets the ground, makes ghosts of trees, brings a quiet stillness that is as palpable as it is profound. This year has also brought sunny, baby blue mornings covered in frost and ice. 

I walk the earth as if I have awakened in wonderland and am swept away at its marvelous beauty; the world swaddled like a newborn; the way tiny ice crystals lay on the ground, on dead leaves, on fence tops, on the bowed heads of spent roses. How it sparkles in the sun as though it is actual snow while mist rises up like the thinning veil between the worlds—beckoning. This week is alive, it is melancholy, it is dark, it is joyous, it is precious. I want nothing more than to go out early, revel in it, capture it, and then to hunker down to a fire, a lit candle, my dog on my lap, a soulful book, Loreena McKennitt's A Winter Garden playing on a never-ending loop. 

Then I want to freeze time right here. Hold close this feeling of holiness that saturates everything, this tender hand of reverence, this wanting to bow down in devotion, like the roses; a devotee, a disciple, a spellbound lover. This waking dream that holds the gift of darkness, the cherished time of rest, of burrowing and nesting, of inception and incubation, of magic and miracles. Both journey and destination. Where time goes is always the question, always a mystery, but never more so than now, with age plus the pandemic, time has warped itself into an unknown and unrecognizable stranger; its shadow in constant pursuit. In a whisper November becomes December and now here we are, tomorrow is the Solstice. 

Walk through the veil. Embrace it as you would a dearest loved one. Right here, right now in your own heart of hearts; don't miss a moment. Let its loveliness sweep you away, its crystalline elegance; fall headlong into its mystery, its breathless poetry, those late mornings and early nights. Fill yourself, sweet one, for the dark is never long enough; always finite; tomorrow light and darkness meet; light will prevail. 

Dream of the Tundra Swan

~Joyce Sidman

Dusk fell

and the cold came creeping,

came prickling into our hearts.

As we tucked beaks

into feathers and settled for sleep,

our wings knew.

That night, we dreamed the journey:

ice-blue sky and the yodel of flight,

the sun's pale wafer,

the crisp drink of clouds.

We dreamed ourselves so far aloft

that the earth curved beneath us

and nothing sang but

a whistling vee of light.

When we woke, we were covered with snow.

We rose in a billow of white.

Happy Winter Solstice. 

~💗~