Out of the Darkness
“At the darkest moment comes the light".” ~ Joseph Campbell
Winter is arrived, wrapping us in deepest darkness. The sun sits suspended on an invisible threshold, its solstice marking both an end and a beginning, a tipping point.
The power, the crisis of this moment, was keenly felt by our ancestors. The myths and ritual celebrations surrounding the return of the light from the midst of darkness oriented us to our place in the cosmos, keeping us rooted in a religious experience of life: the definition of “religious” meaning, “bound together.”
Not so long ago, humility and gratitude were part of the fabric of our existence; but power and hubris replaced humility and gratitude, breeding abuses against our planet and humanity that have brought us to a very real tipping point, a collective crisis.
None of us can ignore what is happening in the world: the violence and unspeakable atrocities and suffering in Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, Sudan. Here in the US, a different sort of terror: daily mass shootings; a spiraling mental health crisis; terrifying autocratic and nationalistic rhetoric; politicians and corporate titans who care more for power than for serving the people. And for all of us, a global ecological crisis. All of these things are the result of a massive disconnect from our selves, from one another, and from our inextricable relationship with all things. It is a dark time.
As I struggle to find a way to hold all of this without going numb or succumbing to fear and despair, I find myself thinking about the tower card in the tarot. This card depicts a large stone tower being struck by lighting, flames coming out the top, people jumping from windows, a dark sky. It’s a card that represents upheaval and destruction. But the subtle, underlying imagery reveals that the tower sits on an unstable foundation; therefore, the tower represents something that has been built on false and untenable premises.
Much of what we are witnessing and experiencing in our world is the inevitable result of towers built on false and untenable premises, towers built on the shaky ground of ignorance and greed. When we think in terms of “us and them,” we are on shaky ground; violence and hatred become inevitable. When we spend decades hell bent on profit, pouring toxins into the earth, air and water, we are on shaky ground. When we value armaments more than education and health care, cheap goods over exploited laborers, image over substance, we are on shaky ground. It is all untenable.
We are witnessing the crumbling of untenable towers, and it is terrible. Of course, knowing that these towers need to come down doesn’t ameliorate the devastation of the process. The horror and suffering are real. In the midst of this, however, it is helpful to remember that Solstice marks the darkest day, but it also presages the return of the light. The reason we light candles and green our homes is to hold the ancient hope that light will return. Hope and possibility emerge from the darkness.
The collective transformation of the darkness lies in each and every one of us. We bring light to the darkness when we speak up for the voiceless, when we stand up for truth, for equality and justice. We bring light to the darkness when we become aware of our own thoughts and feelings of fear, anger, and judgment and choose to address them, choose to be different. We bring light to the darkness with the simple, transformational act of being kind.
We sit suspended in this moment on the cosmic wheel, our future uncertain. There is an urgency in this darkness, an imperative as great as any our ancestors felt. The resurrection of the light is not guaranteed: it is, in fact, in our hands and in our humility. As we arrive at this winter solstice, at the edge of darkness, we are, all of us, bound together, one people, one earth, at this fragile morning of the world. May it dawn in peace and love.
