Winter Solstice: Blessing for the Longest Night

The poem I will read at tomorrow's hospice meeting is a gentle blessing written by author/artist Jan Richardson. I think Jan captures natures offering to us with grace. . .
It is from her book "The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief "

The poem is about a blessing that will find you, wherever you are. It is about the turning of year; Solstice, that night that is longest and yet gives way to days that grow brighter, bringing us light, growth, something new.  And it is a poem about grief, the long, dark night it can lay upon our hearts, and  also, it is about hope.

I hope you enjoy Jan's gentle words of comfort as we approach Winter Solstice and the arrival of the newborn sun.

(You can click the link HERE or above to go to Jan's website, order her books and/or learn more about her work.)

I will read this poem twice; once for the journey, once for my team to listen for a word or a phrase that spoke to them, or will be, perhaps, a key for them this day.  Maybe you would like to listen for your word, phrase or key. . .

Blessing for the Longest Night

All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.

It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.

So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.

You will know
the moment of its
arriving
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;

a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;

a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.

This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,

knows the resting spots
along the path,

knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.

So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.

Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.

This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.

—Jan Richardson