Dearest Lovely,
The Winter Solstice is behind us.
I wish you the deepest peace and the wisdom of winter.
The season of the night has given way once more to the light. Revel in the mystery of the season. In this time of shortened days and longer nights, we turn to the light more than ever. We decorate our homes with lights to say defiantly to this season of growing darkness that we will not give in to the darkness. I wish you the gentlest possible release of that which now lies behind you. May you have the spiritual vision to see the darkness for what it is: only an illusion. Celebrate the coming of the light. “It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”
For the last four years, the pillars of my teachings and effort have centered around the promise of Love.Being.Human (the instruction and inspiration gifted to me October 18, 2013) through spiritual awareness, relational intelligence, freedom to (not freedom from), and a new way of seeing #perspective and doing #being.
Thank you for journeying with me as we travel together towards the light.
In the last year, I came to a realization (a weird kind of remembering) that my grandmother was a Curandera. She was a native healer, and I was to learn her craft. It scared me in more ways than I can communicate in language, but I began to seek out information and teachings to get beyond my fear. What I learned is that there are many ways to practice Curanderismo and that I can continue the legacy she tried so hard to teach me — rather than the hell no, not me frame I held on to because of fear. The way of mind is to midwife, and so I do. I midwife creativity because it is how we can allow the best to bloom from Within (U)s.
One of my mentors and teachers over the last year has been the writings and teachings of Dr. E. and her poem below is my gift to you today.
May you see and feel the love within you and all around you.
Gracias,
Vivi
This time of year — the lighting of candles in the menorah; the lit crown of little children in the rites of Santa Lucia in the north countries; the lighting of the giant starfire burning over the villages in the Middle East; the star of light and life placed atop the ancient tree; the candle lit in the home shrine to throw light into the dark; and the journey… the hard journey through night — but a night lit by the firestar in the East signals the birth of the Child of Endless Love.
OUR OLD ONES, ONCE HIDDEN IN WINTER
Let us remember our ancestors
this Night of the Lights,
recalling the elders
pointing out to the children
and their frightened parents
the menorah in the sky
lit by stars
burning bright for those in hiding
not daring to light the sacred candles.
Let us remember our ancestors
this Night of the Lights
who, when taken down by the hoards
from the north
and pulled away from the sacred
on the mountains of pines,
made little crowns
for the children to wear,
decked with small lit candles
so as not to signal
to the encamped troops
that the captured people
still celebrated
their own rites, but now
in tiny sheltered ways.
Let us remember our ancestors
who lit the fires of winter solstice
smaller, not the huge bonfires of eld,
so as not to be as easily detected,
but to nonetheless, in the clearings
made by the felling of their sacred groves
still in full heart and knowing
to hide the outer while blazing inside
the inner world, until one day…
they might be free again
Let us remember our ancestors
who saw signs in the sky,
unable to be overlooked
for the comets and stars
hung over the villages
rainbowed in the smoke fires,
and the elders hushed everyone
and said not to look and especially
not to show wonder…
that for now,
because of occupying forces,
the great comet of this time
was in one’s heart alone,
no longer ‘out there,’
but inside now, spiraling
through all one’s senses…
They said,
Let us scent ourselves with perfume
of the food only, for now,
not as in times past, with precious
oils to signal that yes, we remember
the One.
Let us remember our ancestors
who huddled at a three-stick fire
of dried yucca and sage and piñon,
singing so quietly the old
sounds, but without drums
any longer, as those had been
taken, destroyed into silence
so instead,
our people tapped the old rhythms
on the drumskin of the sternum,
and said to Creator, Yes we are
in hiding, but you are here with us
in the smoke… we can see you
and feel your eternity.
And let us remember the little families
toiling through the cold desert night
and over mountains looking for the place,
the place, the place, no matter how rough,
for the woman to lay down
and to give birth to the Child
who some said should never be
allowed to live…
Let us remember
that the Child was the bright Light
equal to the greatest star dripping flames
high in the night sky to the east.
And let us remember all who struggled
and hid the most precious heart-loves
for fear of losing life… and let us
be happy now, joyous is not too strong,
for we no longer have to hide
and we can remember our people
who had to hide
and who can now see us rise up
as they could not rise up,
can now see us speak and pray,
as they could not speak and pray,
can now see us sing and dance
as they could not publicly
sing and dance.
They can see us laugh and weep–
just as they also laughed and wept,
their own forms of sanity.
Our ancestors know us,
for we are their triumph,
we are their joy
we have come through
from the hidden river
they kept for us…
and that their greatest wish
has come true at last
that we
the future generations–
who thought never would they
live long enough to see us–
they prayed we
would somehow be free
to proclaim and love
and venerate and sing
and be alive to the tips
of our toes…
What our ancestors had to hide
we do not have to hide.
What they had to hide
is still alive, flowing strong…
in us,
in us all,
for we are the memorial candles
afire
with a meaning,
the ancient meanings
of Love,
a Love
that can never die.
They knew.
So now do we.
So to each his own
To each her own
As each sees fit,
to let the past be the past,
but let what has been sheltered
by ancestral souls,
be vivid in us
and in the world
once again.
May it be so for thee
May it be so for me
May it be so for us all
Aymen
Aymen
Aymen
[and a little woman]
This comes with love, very much on these nights when the stars are more and the land is still and the night is a wonder to behold… I love you.
Dr.e
“OUR OLD ONES, ONCE HIDDEN IN WINTER” poem©2013, 2017 by cp estés, a/r/r/
Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés is Mestiza Latina [Native American/ Mexican Spanish], presently in her seventies.
P.S. Thanks for reading this all the way through, I hosted a complimentary pop-up, online workshop on Life Design to help you reflect on 2017 and set your intention for 2018. Here’s a link to the replay: https://www.crowdcast.io/e/design-your-life-digital/1
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