The Longest Night

I recall the longest night as one of almost utter darkness when, in my early twenties, I lived north of the Arctic Circle for three years. The sun set over the white landscape surrounding Inuvik on the sixth of December. It didn’t rise above the horizon again until the sixth of January; a month of semi- and complete darkness which took its toll on those who made their way through the frozen night.

Living in southern Ontario, the longest night seems short in comparison. But still, the metaphor of darkness has much to offer us for consideration. In so many areas of our lives, there are challenges, overshadowed with broken relationships – with ourselves, others, and Earth, our home. Much of the time, we ignore the places that hurt; it is easier to be busy, to keep moving, to put on our happy face and project the illusion of a perfect life.

But we don’t have perfect lives and the longest night provides us with an opportunity to approach, under cover of darkness, the truths we often hide. We can hear them, approach them, almost touch them, imagining that when we can’t really see them, it is easier to get close enough to deal with them, if only for a brief time. Lament. Let go. And then, call back the light.

As we gathered together to engage in this struggle, we centred ourselves with these words. May they call you to a place of light in this season of darkness.

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p style=”text-align: center;”>It has been imperceptible, really,
this falling away of the light –
summer’s shimmering sunlight a distant memory;
the barrenness of winter
stealthily sealing life beneath the hardened earth.
We felt it coming,
marked the signs –
falling leaves,
twilight come an hour early,
coats heavy, heavy on our shoulders –
and still, we could not name the hour
when light succumbed
and darkness nudged its way
over our days, our world, our hearts.

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p style=”text-align: center;”>Or has the falling away not been our own?
The light – constant, strong, attending –
remains …
but not for us.
Its presence stretched to the thinnest line –
a faint, remembered glow along the far horizon –
seems further yet
as we trudge our way toward the night,
locking ourselves
in a pattern of emptiness, isolation, loss
drawn inexorably on,
unable to free ourselves from its hold
or our own ambition.
We have pressed ourselves
beyond its reach
and into darkness, fallen.

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p style=”text-align: center;”>In this darkest night,
may we find and shelter the light within
and call ourselves back
from the precipice of oblivion
and into the welcome embrace
of love.