Some seeds need light to germinate; others require darkness. At different points of our lives we have our own different needs. Usually we don't ask for or want the times of darkness, for we are afraid to falter. Afraid of getting lost. Afraid of what we cannot see.
When I taught outdoor education, we took the kids on a Night Hike. At one point we turned off the flashlights, stepped off the trail (we were all holding a rope), and sat in the dark forest. At first I felt discomfort. A sense of being unsure, wary. But then a sensation came over me: I felt cradled, held. I felt, in this utter darkness, seen. The forest saw me. The darkness saw me. In the darkness, I had nothing to prove and no one to be. It was just me and the velvety soft Love of Being.
In this time of germination, as our whole world asks who we are called to become, I wonder how the darkness can guide us. I do not relate to darkness as evil, but as a space for transmutation. Are we seeds that need the dark rich soil to transform? Can we trust the rope that keeps us connected to each other?
We sit in the Wisdom of where Christ guides us, not knowing where we are going. Not knowing who we will become. When he transitioned into a Being of Light destined to guide us, did He know? He knows now, but in this time of crucifixion and Easter, I have no sense at all. But then it isn't about me. It is about knowing that we are seen and held in the Darkness and the Light, and opening my heart to what He calls me to, even though I do not know what that is. Am I germinating or entering the cave of closing doors? I will not know until this time of life passes.
Much love to you.
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