To Go Gently Into the Dark

My blankets and throws have come out.  I’ve purchased a new pair of slippers, and an added layer of fleece for my morning walks.  The feeders are freshly filled, the geraniums put into pots in my south-facing window. The peonies have been moved to a sunnier location, the hoses wound on their spools.

Every day now, I become aware of the charged and freighted air in which we live. Shootings, the bruising echoes of political cant, images of distant, needless wars.  Is it any wonder that these pressures on our souls give rise to careless emails, overblown reactions, and minor misunderstandings?

It is as if we are standing at the edge of a great darkness, the updrafts from its depths threatening to pull us down.

I no longer feel that the term “spiritual courage” is old-fashioned and grandiose.  I have come to believe that our quality of life depends upon exactly this:  our spiritual courage, and our intentional facing into the challenge of creating and maintain circles of gentleness, resilience, and forgiveness, in the immediate compass of our lives.

To do this best, I find that I need to arm myself with tools that will nourish and fortify me.

For the first time in months, I’ve pulled out cookbooks, and begun my list of holiday giving – cookies, amaryllis plants to send, tags for the Christmas packages.  I’ve considered the non-profit organizations I care most about, and asked how I can best support them.

I’ve promised myself a season of simplicity, one that is more focused on inner gifts and tranquil evenings with loved ones.  Each day now, I commit one act of generosity, protect a corner for creativity.

I make a batch of granola.  I send a card.

As the weather turns colder and the furnace comes knocking on, I have begun to set out a mug of afternoon tea.  I’ve stocked in hibiscus, ginger, and echinacea.  I’ve pulled together a stack of good books, a new journal, and a new knitting project:  oversized comfy socks for all of my friends to slip on when they arrive, to be kept in a basket in the front hall.

The gifts of friends sustain me.  As I write, I have a candle lit on the table before me – a gift from a woman who brings them back from her annual visits to Austria.   A loaf of pumpkin chocolate chip bread sits on my counter, another recent and delicious, unexpected, treat.

There is nothing like friendship to fortify our spiritual courage.

But a “close second” is reading through old journals for the favorite quotes inscribed in them.

Yesterday I stumbled upon a long-ago column written by a generous-hearted woman.  She was facing an important decision in her life, and was searching for principles by which to do so with integrity and courage. Her words seem quaint in ways that are deeply touching, a reminder of how life has changed.  But for this very reason, on a chilly, windy November day, they seem words worth pondering.

A Vision to Decide By

Does it connect me to the people I care most about?
Does it allow me to be authentic?
Will it increase my sense of master, my feeling of being confident, centered and present?
Will it be fun?  Take me out of my routine?  Allow for spontaneity?
Is it service that is meaningful to me, as well as to others?
Does it help create order in my life?
Will it stretch my vision?
Does it offer me an opportunity to be creative?
Will it enhance my physical well-being?
Does it respect my own rhythms?  Will is allow me to function at a comfortable pace?
 
                                    Linda Weltner

As we enter the growing dark, let us provision ourselves with reminders of how to live life courageously, asserting against all comers the values of gentleness, beauty, and peace.