Utter Darkness, The Halcyon Days

Dear friends, I am so touched by the growing sincerity in our time together on Mondays. Each of us are in different places, and each of us is welcomed as  we are-- how can we be any other way-- into our  circle of growing presence. We will always be in different places from each other, and from moment to moment. There is no cookie cutter way to presence. Each soul has its own journey, its own struggles and its own expression. That is the grace of presence. All is allowed and all is held. Over the weeks each of you have brought your sincerity, your vulnerability and your practice of presence to this circle. 

These are the Halcyon Days, well not quite. They start seven days before the solstice and end seven days after the solstice. The Halcyon days come from a greek myth. As is so often the case,  a couple of lovers piss of Zeus and he freezes them into oblivion. But some other gods-- thank God for those other ones-- come to the rescue and change this couple into a pair of Kingfishers. They build their nest by the sea. So in order to protect the nest and the delicate eggs, the god of the wind stills the winds for 14 days during the Halcyon Days. Go outside at night and feel the stillness, when the wind has dropped. Let yourself feel the pull of interiority. These are very thin times.

We are journeying into the darkness of this season. Last week we explored the frenzy of filling as we enter this season of emptying. This Monday we welcomed the utter darkness. It awoke childhood fears of monsters hidden away and fears of death, loneliness, abandonment, brokenness. And yet at the same time we discovered our longing to rest in the utter stillness of the darkness, the curious intimacy of this peaceful rest. It is as though for a moment we discover that all the agitation in the mind comes to a stop. The darkness welcomes us into the perfect rest of stillness and silence. (Questions: Tell me a way you fear total darkness; tell me a way you are drawn to darkness. Explore your experience of the movement between stillness and agitation. Apply your practice of presence to this exploration)

Following the poetry of Rilke we turned all the lights off in the chapel and sat together in silence. At the end of the evening we held our dear friend Karl in loving presence as he heads to Maryland to find out the results of his chemotherapy. Our prayers go with him.

Next time we will focus on the light of rebirth. If you have an unscented candle please bring it our next session. This will be our last time until we gather again on January 7th 2013. Love, Alison

…whom should I turn to,
if not the one whose darkness
is darker than night, the only one
who keeps vigil with no candle,
and is not afraid--
the deep one, whose being I trust,
for it breaks through the earth into trees,
and rises,
when I bow my head,
faint as a fragrance,
from the soil     (I 2, p. 32)


You darkness, of whom I am born---
I love you more than the flame
that limits the world
to the circle it illumines
and excludes all the rest.

But the dark embraces everything:
shapes and shadows, creatures and me,
people, nations--just as they are.

It let's me imagine
a great presence stirring beside me.
I believe in the night.  (I. II p. 63)


…when I lean over the chasm of myself---
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.

This is the ferment I grow out of.
More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirring only by the wind.   (I.3   p. 47)

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