"The blessing of the morning light to you,
may it find you even in your invisible
appearances, may you be seen to have risen
from some other place you know and have known
in the darkness and that that carries all you need.
May you see what is hidden in you
as a place of hospitality and shadowed shelter,
may what is hidden in you become your gift to give,
may you hold that shadow to the light
and the silence of that shelter to the word of the light,
may you join every previous disappearance
with this new appearance, this new morning,
this being seen again, new and newly alive.
"Blessing of the morning light" by David Whyte
Profound visions lie beneath the fabric of November light, hidden to one’s “eye”. Appearing to me as a sense, a deepening, and then as a joining of rhythms to previous quiet places.
The rhythms sing a song to the stars, who in turn respond in their contemplation of Earth with celestial music of their own, gifting us with the circle created.
Some days, when the fog rolls in, covering the ground with deeper mysteries, when memories drift by like wisps on fog tendrils, and keep moving onward, appearances shift into visions of what may be, the breath of possibility.
Some days, when the snow falls, blanketing the landscape, blanketing the previous summer's toils and outbursts, the quiet arrives with relief. The snow-bearing gifts come with a crisp and simple invitation to open to the greater silences, to explore what’s hidden, here.
Today, the song is of silence. Today the appearance is of stillness. Today the silence holds a deep ripening. The more I listen, the deeper I sink.
Winter companions sing confidently this morning, as they flit from branch to feeder and back, covering the ground with more shells of time.
Blankets upon blankets deepening the days, like woolen sweaters upon warm skin, offering comforting inviting covers to crawl under and into.
This invitation to listen to the land, to the visions here, opens a curious quiet doorway. One with potency, fullness and stillness. One that stretches me to remember to hold witness, to hear the songs as they linger, to honor who has come before and then, in turn, sink even deeper under the covers of this November. Dreaming the potent possible, dreaming the conversations with the cosmos.
The Winter will come ~
The Winter will bring the winds that roar as the ocean tides who crash on the solid rock; the winds that bluster and grow with force, mingle and laugh in freedom of expression, and move freely joyfully, through the forests of graceful hemlocks, tall pines and bare bones of hardwood trees.
This beautiful Winter will come,
and the conversations will continue.
Thank you to all of you; thank you for helping me to birth this post; thank you for being you and sharing your songs of you and your lands.
So much love, Namaste