Blessing for the longest night

All throughout these months,

as the shadows

have lengthened,

this blessing has been

gathering itself,

making ready,

preparing for

this night.

It has practiced

walking in the dark,

traveling with

its eyes closed,

feeling its way

by memory,

by touch,

by the pull of the moon

even as it wanes.

So believe me

when I tell you

this blessing will

reach you,

even if you

have not light enough

to read it;

it will find you,

even though you cannot

see it coming.

You will know

the moment of its

arriving

by your release

of the breath

you have held

so long;

a loosening

of the clenching

in your hands,

of the clutch

around your heart;

a thinning

of the darkness

that had drawn itself

around you.

This blessing

does not mean

to take the night away,

but it knows

its hidden roads,

knows the resting spots

along the path,

knows what it means

to travel

in the company

of a friend.

So when

this blessing comes,

take its hand.

Get up.

Set out on the road

you cannot see.

—Jan Richardson

from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief

Lumbricus terrestris (The Earthworm)

On a day when the world is weighty,

dark and dense with need,

I want to be the earthworm

that gives itself over to tunneling,

its every movement an act

of bringing spaciousness.

And when minutes feel crushed by urgency,

I want to meet the world wormlike,

which is to say grounded,

consistent, even slow.

No matter how desperate the situation,

the worm does not tunnel faster

nor burrow more.

It knows it can take decades

to build fine soil.

To whatever is compacted,

the worm offers its good worm work,

quietly bringing porosity

to what is trodden, compressed.

So often, in my rush to repair,

I end up exhausted.

Let my gift to the world be

my constancy, a devotion to openness,

my willingness to be with what is.

Let my gift to myself be patience

as I tend what is dense and dark.

-- Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, from THE UNFOLDING (Wildhouse Poetry, 2024)

Sweet darkness

When your eyes are tired

The world is tired also.

When your vision has gone

no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark

Where the night has eyes

To recognize its own

There you can be sure

You are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb

Tonight.

The night will give you a horizon 

Further than you can see.

You must learn one thing

The world was made to be free in.

Give up all other worlds 

Except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

Confinement of your aloneness 

To learn

Anything or anyone 

That does not bring you alive

Is too small for you.

--David Whyte