The shortest day of the year has ended and 
we are heading into the longest night.  

Here in the northern hemisphere, this is the darkest time of the year. Now, in so many ways, darkness seems to describe not only the natural rhythm of Earth’s dance with the Sun, but also many aspects of the human world. We know that Sun and Earth will continue the steps of their ancient dance, that the dark is now beginning to give way to the sunlight of which all life is made. And we know that, in six months time, we’ll swing round to begin moving into the fading of light, into the darkening seasons where life seems to dwindle but is just resting and secretly growing in preparation for the Sun’s return.

But in our human, cultural, political world?

Can we do that? Can we sit quietly together in the darkness?

Pema Chödrön reminds us:

"Reality is always falling apart. 
In this fleeting situation, the only thing that makes sense is for us to reach out to one another."

In so many ancient traditions, Winter Solstice is celebrated with Fire — the communal bonfires, the hospitable hearths, the candle’s flame. In the Christian tradition, the Star of Bethlehem shines out in the darkness. And, at this time of year, many of us light up our homes, place candles in the windows and on our tables, decorate and place lights on the evergreen trees that seem to defy winter’s cold and dark.

Can we also light our inner fires 
(the fires of life gifted to us by the Sun)?  
Can we sit together in celebration of our community -- 
an inclusive Community of Being that stretches out to the edges of the Cosmos?

To me, Solstice feeling like a time of turning, of new possibilities. As I wrote about 40 years (half a lifetime) ago:

Now the earth slides faster down
the long dark days towards Solstice.
We’ve been flung
almost too far from the center,
skidding violently along
the curve of space.

The pace
presses me flat against the rocks,
among the dried debris of summer.
Blackberry canes snarl my hair;
faded petals or leaves,
compressed beyond recognition,
cling to my lips and eyes.

Oh, it’s a long slide
down to the Solstice.

But we
shall be
tugged sunward at last on gravity’s leash:
a cosmic
crack-the-whip.

We’ll hit the corner flying
and careen round into who knows
what great wind of passage.

Even I
may be blown clear out of this cave, clean
onto my feet.

Lifting my arms to
layer upon layer of translucent
color cupped to Earth’s curve,
I’ll feel the thrust of the planet
beneath my feet.
Gulping air straight
from Arctic floes,
I’ll raise my face to
the icy stab of Orion’s sword and
roar
for joy.

May it be so for each of us 
and for all of us collectively as humanity, 
as participants in the community of Earth and Sun.  
Alone we may stumble or lose the rhythm.  
So let's join hands 
to gracefully, once again, 
enter the great dance
with all beings.