After the Election

This is a photo of rock with groves carved out by lichens. It reminds me of this time of year. The erie light of December and the darkness of the Halcyon Days. These are the days when the gods still the winds so that the Kingfisher can lay her eggs on the shore. Seven days before the solstice and seven days after, the winds are still so the eggs can rest in peace. These are thin times. The veils seem more porous, provided I listen.

There seem to be fewer words. More silent gaps between the words. Grace hides in the gaps waiting like the night owl, ready to glide out into into the night sky, silently seeking her prey. She seeks my openness, my effortless patience and hope. And she kills sometimes, blowing apart cherished notions of God. Sometimes it is the shiver of air as she flies by, touching the heart, a delicate membrane of love. And sometimes she lays her eggs. And years later they birth into unexpected wisdom. Her passage through the night of the soul, seemingly forgotten, she births over and over.

And what about the elections. Its been over a month. It has been a month of a long exhale. All those months of giving money, of turning off the radio, of praying that somehow this country would wake up. And yes! And Obama is playing hard ball. Perhaps the politics are changing. Certainly the demographics are.

Hope is a precious commodity. It nearly died. But of course for nearly half the population they may have lost their hope. They need compassion. And waking up too. But that comes so slowly.