Quietly I return
each winter when the moon is full
and the stars sparkle bright in the black sky.

I return to this silent place that has been
in my heart and soul of humanity – forever
as the heavens pause
in this stillness we all feel.

The ever-present cycle of birth, growth and blossoming,
the wisdom of autumn and death of each heartbeat,
breath filing each cell, organ, limb, body, tree,
mountain, planet and galaxy dancing the dance
of transformation and renewal,
we are reminded of in this quiet place.

Strange how the ancient’s pictured this
timeless cycle of living-dying.
The Egyptian and Greek, the pre-medieval
mind whispered and carry forward stories
of this reverence that we feel.

The cross traversing the perfect circle,
dividing the heavens into four seasons,
of that they made into a symbol of pain.
And of that ever-new, transcendent spirit,
that force that is born again and again
and again each moment,
of that they cast as an image of ‘a’ man.

The metaphysical gifts of love,
of affection, good health and wholeness, of that
they made into toy trains, gadgets and silk ties.

But that transcendent spirit called Christ
pushing like a blade of grass through the concrete
of our conditioning remains in this quiet place.
Can you feel it?

The mystic see what lays hidden from
the mind enchanted blinded by its concepts and symbols.
They see the eternal sea of light turning and churning
behind the stories we tell each other
on this winter’s eve.

May you stop as the heavens do each year
and stand in the mystery that casts this spell
as it has done forever and will forever.

May it touch you,
nay pierce you like Zeus’s lightning bolt
and in that stunned-timeless moment
see the miracle that you are
and will always be.

For that is the true meaning
of this winter’s tale.

m