We look for the lifting of consciousness at the end of the year, the raising of comprehension. But really we should be grateful for the gift of staying awake. It’s easy to fall into conventional pieties towards the mid-winter point, and prayers that sometimes sound hollow to the ears. As a poet or creative artist your usual sources suspend themselves or – to put it another way – the muses suspend belief in you unless you look for other ways of seeing. You lose their favor. It’s the time for love, for opening up the darkest spaces.
The sun does this. It lives under stones, in dank caverns, in places without any opening at all. Then suddenly you realize you need a prayer to keep going, a voice you’ve never heard before to answer you. Your consciousness is not to be taken for granted. And the moon is softly in play as well, performing acts of grace. One word before others: grace. It’s there in both senses, and occupies the darkness where belief has been suspended: grace in movement and Grace in dispensation.
The frost for me is a symbol of life this winter. It’s an expression of continued consciousness, of a mind-space that can reach into the dark. Ultimately it is like the fur that keeps darkness warm and prevents it from dying. We must find other ways of seeing, turn things inside out and upside down in order to be there at the end. Then at the mid-winter point I might still arrive, cap of frost in my hands and sacred words on my lips.
The Living Frost
But sometimes too the frost breaks into blue
and dazzles the birds with a diamond light.
Then you’ll find me at the edge of a clear day
learning the lines of the great, great Beyond.
The lines are yours, the lines are mine, we’ll meet
where wind lets down its cape and winter bows.
And with the living frost inside the sky
we’ll understand the Mind that made our days.
At other times the frost inhabits rain,
singing its song a thousand-fold each breath.
Then mind must travel back in inner space
to learn what taught it how to comprehend.
I heard the Moon in her late morning’s grace,
and the many thoughts stars must think to shine.
But still that deepest heart of all, the Sun,
has left his word where frost drops down to earth.
Deepest heart? Under stones, in dank caverns,
in places never yet turned or opened -
there travails Sun, saving till the end.
When you have need of prayer his light is there.
Darkness is far too alive to be feared -
frost is the fur that warms its exposed flesh.
If I come to Sun it will be with tears,
with cap of frost and gift of sacred words.
Best wishes, today,
Pictures: ‘Frost’, by Silveryhawk and by Odetta
© Landar 2012. All rights reserved
You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source: Author: Jay Landar. Source: www.lightonthepage.com. For other permissions please contact the author.