The Story Midwife

In Love With Darkness

I love the dark. Love, love, LOVE it. Appropriately then, the Winter Solstice is my absolute favorite day of the year. 

It was not always so. In my more fundamentalist Christian days I believed that truly it was the Light that was to conquer the darkness, and that darkness was bad and to be avoided at all costs.  Especially the darkness within. I am pleased to report with a deep sigh of gratitude that these days I welcome the darkness - especially the darkness within. I find such beauty and solace in that quiet, still place in my belly.

An example: For Thanksgiving, we drove out to Colorado to visit my brother and his new wife in the Denver area. My parents and sisters and their families also made the 12+ hour trip out. My favorite part of the whole trip was driving home in the dark. At the last minute we decided not to sleep over on Friday evening and begin the 13.5 hour drive at the crack of dawn. Instead, we packed up and headed out around 9:00 Friday evening, and figured we be home around 11:00 A.M. I was driver #1. While Richard and Sammy slept, I listened to two self-compiled CDs of music - one called STORY, one called ACHE.  And I fell in love over and over again. With the songs' characters, with the wondrous ways words and melody find and dance with one another, with the stars, even with the other late-night drivers. I fell in love even more deeply with this part of me that so treasures darkness and story and the ways they are ever interwoven.  Ahhh.  I believe this is why the word "luscious" exists. 

(The side story is this luscious dark-night drive would be AFTER the good yet wearisome family time and BEFORE Richard began manifesting the stomach bug my niece was first struck with en route to the Denver Children's Museum. Ugh. Obviously, I ended up driving the whole crazy way home.)

Five years ago now, Richard and I hosted our first Dark Party. We were so inspired, the next year we made a Christmas/Winter Solstice CD called Behold and wrote about it in the liner notes. An excerpt:

Last year, we began a new family tradition. At the Winter Solstice, the first day of winter and the darkest night of the year, we hosted a Dark Party. We invited friends to dress in black and bring dark colored food for a potluck. After the blackberries, deep dark soups, and "Edgar Allen Bean Dip" we sat in a circle, sharing our stories and witnessing for one another the presence of God in our dark places. At the end of the night, some chose to light a candle to symbolize a welcome of the returning sun, others held an unlit candle, honoring the presence of God in night.

(If you're interested you can view lyrics and listen to song snippets from Behold. Click here.)

This year's celebrations will be a bit different: on the solstice, I'll be doing a contemplative concert and ritual in Des Moines, and the Dark Party will happen nine days after solstice, and just the women of Spirations are invited.

Yesterday, I learned about another winter holiday celebration: Night of the Mothers! An ancient English holy day, it's celebrated the day before Christmas. Though legend holds Night of the Mothers was originally celebrated the day before solstice.  After the Church declared Christmas would be celebrated on December 25th, the Night of the Mothers date was also shifted.  Read about it here, here, here, and here. I particularly like the notion that dreams that occur on Night of the Mothers hold special meaning for the year to come.  Oh, I'm delighted by this new-to-me holy day so much I could just squeal!  In fact, so inspired was I yesterday that I wrote a new chant-like song on the spot. You can download that PDF here: Download pdf_night_of_the_mothers.pdf.

Well, there's a rumbly in my tumbly. Must follow that invitation.

But before I go, do share!

What does this holiday season mean for you?
What Holy Days do you intentionally celebrate - and intentionally NOT celebrate?
How does the idea of nourishing darkness strike you?
Shall we all have a virtual Dark Party?!

I can't wait to hear.

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Welp. Here I am. Back out from wherever I've been!

You know how it is when you forget to call a friend, or let some emails from her go unanswered? It's hard to catch up. Pretty soon a few weeks and months and even years have passed and re-engaging the conversation feels too cumbersome an event to tackle. In a very microcosm sort of way I think that has happened here.

I've been wishing someone had invented brain-to-blog software that I could compose little daily updates from my mind.  However, since that product hasn't yet hit the shelves, it's me and my fingers coming to you live with an update from Strawberry Point.

Let's see. There are some things you should know:

One: I am preparing for my upcoming weekend with the beautiful women of Spirations. I leave tomorrow for some time of solitude and prayer before the women arrive on Friday around noon. This will be retreat number four of nine in the training program.  This quarter the women have been exploring Compassion and Lovingkindness through the Buddhist lens. In addition to meeting with their own spiritual directors and completing "field visits" to Buddhist Meditation Centers in or near their own communities, they've been reading Sharon Salzberg (here and here), Thich Nhat Hanh, Tara Brach, and doing soul-art with and listening to Cheri Huber.  Zuiko Redding, resident teacher at Cedar Rapids Zen Center will be joining us for more in-depth zazen instruction and Q&A. The women have been journeying so deeply and courageously.  I think most of them were surprised to find that engaging compassion and lovingkindness showed to them all the places they are unkind to themselves; the places that they so long for compassion. I have the sense that this will be a healing weekend for us all.

(By the way, another class of Spirations, a women's two-year spiritual direction training program, will be starting in March.  I promise you -- it's the journey of a lifetime.  Download an application if you're interested or know others who may be.)

Two: The concert in Des Moines was a smashing success! I met my best friend Heather Michele, from St. Paul, MN, (would someone PLEASE get this woman a blog?!  She's amazing, I tell you, and has amazing things to say!!) at the Hampton Inn. As always, we talked and talked and laughed and ate and simply loved being together.  We travel very well together and are able to be who we really are in each other's presence. I can hardly remember not knowing her, though we have only known one other for about 4 years. I spent Saturday morning and early afternoon co-leading a music and movement workshop with Mary Ellen Lewis, InterPlay woman of the world. I had been sick all week and my voice was playing hide and seek, so I knew something different would be in store for the concert.  I decided to ask Heather Michele to weave poetry throughout the concert. Several dancers also danced to three of my songs, one of which I wrote twelve years ago and haven't really done much with in the last decade. My goodness - such beauty!  It was like I got to meet my music all over again.  I nearly made it through the concert.  But I started to cough on the introduction to the very last song.  At which point my very best friend arose to the microphone and sang the song for me.  Dear ones, let me tell you -- this was the most amazing moment of the whole weekend for me.  What a metaphor for friendship: sometimes when the song gets stuck in our throats, our friends will rise to sing it for us.  I wish for you all a friend like this.

Three: On Tuesday, November 2nd, Heather's former partner G died.  She went from this place from a bed in her father's home.  Shortly after she died, Heather went to see her.  G wore on her face a smile. Bless her, bless her, bless her.

Four: Another death has occurred in our circle. Our black lab dog Lukey recently celebrate birthday number eleven. He was Richard's dog with his first wife, and was his dearest companion in the midst of their divorce. He became a beloved member of our blended animal family (and best friend to my collie-lab mix dog, Abby) when Richard and I began living together nearly eight years ago. About four years ago Lukey went to live with Richard's parents as he became very agitated and nippy around a newly walking, exuberantly dog-loving Sammy boy. He fared much better with two retired folks than he did with a home full of people and other loud animals. However, in the last year, despite the more relaxed environment, Lukey began biting Richard's parents.  Several weeks ago he bit Richard's mother's hand while she was in bed. Their home no longer felt safe, and they made the decision to put Lukey down.  It was important to us to be there with Lukey. It was arranged for Monday (two days ago).  We trekked up on Sunday night to have extra time with Lukey. We had a Lukey Story Circle in the living room where we all got to talk about Lukey and laugh and cry with our memories of him.  When the vet came, Richard, Richard's dad and sister, and I all sat with him, petted him, and told him what a good dog he was. We thanked him for loving us and sharing his life in our family.  After his heart stopped beating, little Sammy came outside, put his head down on Lukey's body and cried.  Such a tender and heartbreaking moment.  Then we buried him on the acreage with the other dogs and cats and birds that have lived in Richard's parents' home over the last 35+ years. 

When we got home that night, Richard, Sammy and I crawled up into the Big Bed for storytime.  I've been doing guided visualizations with Sammy to help him learn to engage his inner wisdom and creativity when he's at school. (It's working!!!)  Sammy asked if HE could lead US in a "picture movie in our heads".  He did.  He lead us in an amalgamation of several visualizations he's heard me do. After we reached up to a star to bring light into our bodies, and our guardian angels brought us golden cloaks, and we pinned any of our cares on our Worry Trees, we built sandcastles on the shore of a river. Then large swans came to pick us up and take us for rides. He even left lots of silence amid his speaking for the stories to unfold in our own minds. When we were done, Richard tearfully told us that when he was riding his swan, he looked over and saw Lukey floating down the river on a swan, too.  Lukey was laughing! He told Richard thank you for his good life, that it was his time to go.  We all cried some more, amazed at this gift that Sammy had brought to his Daddy.  Sweet sighs.

And that about sums up the bittersweetness of these last couple of weeks. How are you journeying in this season?

With my heart full of swans,
Trish