“The sun will rise and set regardless.  What we choose to do with the light while it’s here is up to us.  Journey wisely.” Alexandra Elle

“The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot comprehend it.”  John 1:5

“Darkness.

Disorienting. Unseeing. Cold. Lost. Confused. Unbelieving.

Darkness. Present and Permeating before the first creation.

Yes! Defining my Being. Moreso. Blind. Oblivious. Unaware of the

Darkness.  Within. And without . . .

Light. Sonrise!

Beacon of Hope. Present and Permeating my opaque existence.

First blue.  Then cotton candy pink.  And fiery red. 

Invitation to live . . . with Passion.  And follow the . . .

Light.  No longer

Dark.  No longer

Dead. But Alive. The World. Me. You?

Light and Life.

Illumination of all creation.

Animation of the spirit. Now I see more clearly the . . .

Light. Now I hold more dearly the . . .

Light. Now I fully appreciate the . . .

Darkness.

For only in so doing can I fully embrace the . . .

Light.”[1]

Do you know what a Koan is?  Common in Buddhism, a koan is a brief phrase or question that a teacher will give their student to ponder.  A common koan is “What face did you have before your parents were born?”

On this, the date of the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, I’d like to invite you to consider this koan of mine:  “What darkness is the most difficult to see in the darkness?”  (Please take some time to contemplate this)

How would you answer that?

One answer that I came up with is:  “The darkness that lies deep within.”

It is easy to see the darkness of the world—be it literal or figurative.

It is easy to see the darkness in others—and vilify “them” for it.

But what about our own darkness?  What has been called sin.  Not merely outward actions.  Not at all.  But inward attitudes. All that we can’t—or don’t want to–see within ourselves.  That which lies buried in the darkness, and gives birth to the resentment, anger, accusations, shame and guilt within that translates into unkindness, criticism, and a host of other dis-Spirited actions and attitudes that demoralize us and demonize others. 

All because we don’t see our own darkness.

 All because we won’t see our own darkness.

The Winter Solstice is one calendar day.  But it lasts every day in the life enveloped and overcome by darkness.

The only antidote is light. The Light.  It shines in the darkness. He shines in the darkness.  Sonrise.  Sonshine.  Sonlight.

The human eye is only able to see .0035 of the light on the spectrum.  Consider that for a moment.  All the light we cannot see.

And what about the human soul?  How much light can it—can you—see? 

One of the great mysteries of Christ—The Word—the Light–is that he is hidden.  That, I believe is the reason for kind of birth he experienced.  In the darkness of an obscure stable—as an infant that took shape as an embryo formed in the primordial dark deep of the womb.

Magi followed The Light to find him—to see him.

Many couldn’t.  Many more wouldn’t. 

Jesus addressed them.  “Now because you claim that you can see, your guilt remains.”[2]

“They” couldn’t see him.  “They” wouldn’t see him. 

Can we?  Do we?

His light shines dimly.  A mere flicker mostly.  Barely visible at times.  Lost on the spectrum of our own darkness.  But it is there.  Illuminating the darkness, which cannot overcome it.  A brilliant beacon in the darkness . . . of Good Friday . . . and Forever. 

Illuminating the Way.  Illuminating our way.  Opening our eyes to see. . . all The Light and Darkness we cannot see.

Without Him.

“Upon a gloomy night, With all my cares to loving ardors flushed.

O venture of delight! With nobody in sight

I went abroad when all my house was hushed.

In safety, in disguise, In darkness up the secret stair I crept,

(O happy enterprise!) Concealed from other eyes

When all my house at length in silence slept.

Upon that lucky night In secrecy, inscrutable to sight,

I went without discerning And with no other light

Except for that which in my heart was burning.

It lit and led me through, More certain than the light of noonday clear

To where One waited near Whose Presence well I knew,

There where no other presence might appear.

Oh night that was my guide! Oh darkness dearer than the morning’s

pride Oh night that joined the lover To the beloved bride

Transfiguring them each into the other.”  (St. John of The Cross)

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[1] I wrote this Friday morning.  There was no power at my house due to severe winds.  I sat before the fire in my stove, and then I watched as the sun slowly made its appearance.  So subtle at first—and then broke through with the brilliant hues of orange, red, and blue.  Inspiring!  Divine!

[2] John 9:41