There’s something about the dark that let’s us find our deepest truths.

As the nights get longer, I find myself whispering dreams and knowings, letting them surface in the gentle dark. Things which can’t yet bear the light of day, can find their way to the surface of my being where I can begin the tentative work of exploring and holding and breathing them in.

I’ve always loved and celebrated these darkest nights.

When I lived in Beacon, NY, just a short walk from the Hudson River, I would hold a solstice vigil every year.

There were fairy lights on the porch, holly adorning the doorways, and the mingled scents of soup and baking bread wafting from the kitchen. I lived on a quite street with few lights, so the house became a twinkling and magical space, a boat we boarded to carry us from one sun cycle into the next.

It was always an unusual gathering, quiet and contemplative. We spoke in hushed tones and somehow, together, drew into our deepest hearts.

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