The Deep Sacred Night
Fall has always felt like a sacred time in my life. I guess it’s a favorite here in Tucson, when the blowtorch of summer is turned down a notch and it’s actually pleasant to be outdoors, and we all come out of hibernation. Overlay that with the more general cultural mythical undertones of the harvest, reaping, the death necessary for Spring’s rebirth, and it’s a recipe for magic. For me, the All Souls Procession is a perfect expression of this mystical time. Spring also has its giddy form of sanctity in the Sonoran desert: the Yaqui Easter ceremonies, the intoxicating smell of orange blossoms, the ethereal green of brand-new mesquite leaves…
A new deeply sacred season has been added to my own liturgy. Maybe other Tucsonans are feeling it too. For personal reasons, it begins for me in early December, and will probably go through the end of January. I’m not sure yet, because this is year one.
On December 7th of 2010, a very sweet and beloved member of my circle of friends, Marta, was killed in a mindless auto accident by a young man who ran a red light to avoid an encounter with the police. As happens with these freak tragedies, a whole community of people was thrust into a period of emotional rawness, the questioning of reality that goes with shock, a search for meaning, speculation on how such a stupid tragedy could have been avoided, the contemplation of mortality and life’s value – all culminating in a strong desire to keep Marta’s joyful spirit alive somehow in ourselves and in the world. What we experienced is also known as the Mystery.
In poetic terms, a period of grief and loss is a time when the veil between the worlds is thin. Whether you believe in a life beyond or not, pragmatically grief is a time when these reflections and feelings can give us a deeper experience of aliveness, catalyze inner growth, and inspire creative responses that actually do keep a person’s legacy (or spirit) alive in the world – immortal. So when I refer to the veil between the worlds, I’m talking about more than the abstract or faith-based idea of an afterlife. I’m talking about (for lack of better words for it) the veil between what is here now and what is possible. The Mystery is a quantum moment.
The key to the Mystery is in our hearts. There’s no “answer” to it – there’s only the feeling of it.
Almost exactly a month later, on January 8th, the entire Tucson community was thrown into grief over another freakishly violent tragedy, perpetrated by another scared young man (this one profoundly disturbed). That it was an attack on a member of the U.S. Congress made the story personal all over the country, and the world.
I think we all get a little emotionally worn down and stressed out by the holidays. At a time of the yearly cycle (here in the Northern Hemisphere) when our mammalian instinct is probably leaning toward slowing down, fattening up, reducing productivity, sleeping, reflecting and relaxing, we are instead thrown by our culture into a juggling act of obligations, expectations, expenses and social engagements, all stitched together by the complex emotional web of intrigue that our families and materialist culture have normalized for us from birth. Even if one can avoid it in one’s own practices (such as choosing not to give presents, or staying home from holiday parties) one would have to hang out in an isolation tank for two months not to bump up against the general feeling. Of course, enmeshed with all of this are moments of joy, familiarity and comfort in spending time with loved ones, some we only see only once a year – it can be such a loving time of year too.
The holidays we celebrate around the winter solstice come between the death/harvest holidays of fall and the rebirth holidays of spring. Because we can’t celebrate the rebirth yet – plants are dormant – we celebrate the return of the light in the midst of a long, dark night. Whatever our spiritual tradition, or whatever shape the story takes, the light is generally tenuous, vulnerable and even tiny, and the night is fearsome and consuming. It takes a miracle. It’s also kind of an abstract concept compared to the drama of the first freeze of fall or the first green buds of spring – the solar cycle is so slow and subtle we barely notice the days getting longer at solstice. It is a tiny change. But as the days go on we see that it’s really getting lighter. The seeds in the ground, and the branches of the trees, in their own slow, slow, way, are sensing the change.
Maybe I’m just feeling the spirit of this season more deeply than before. Again, Tucson doesn’t exactly fit the temperate-zone mythologies we’re taught as children; our growing season is year-round for a lot of plants. Fall and spring are less dramatic here. Though it’s interesting that last year we had an exceptionally hard freeze that killed and traumatized a lot of our frost-sensitive plants, and this winter has been chillier than normal too. Maybe we’re learning a new holiday.
Last year, after the shootings, people in Tucson were all in a daze to varying degrees – trying to get through our day-to-day activities and wondering why we couldn’t even tie our shoes. The grief hit us all. For those of us who were able to slow down, take some time off, reflect, or simply take moments to be conscious of the profound thing that had just happened in our community, it was a time of great creativity and healing. The shrines are a beautiful example of the immediate creative response. Since then, there has been an explosion of creativity and activity on all levels: Gabby’s office has been flooded with art, writing, and music (as I’m sure the loved ones of the other victims and survivors have); Ron Barber and family created the Fund for Civility, Understanding and Respect; Members of Congress chose to cross the aisle for the State of the Union Address and tone down violent rhetoric; and many people have stepped out to become civically involved, or use their artistic skills in new ways. There are too many examples to name. You’re probably one of them!
This is the definition of a sacred time, I think. Holy Days. A time when we can reflect on the bigger picture, and the potential each of us has to be bigger and brighter, and the better world we can create, and are creating. I’m not saying this in some Polyanna, abstract way – the night is long, dark and scary. People are hurting. It’s by looking into that darkness, acknowledging it, humbling ourselves before it, and feeling all of the feelings of this grief that we touch the Mystery, and bring the light back.
Please be kind to yourselves and each other, and know that things are going to be a little strange, and our hearts a little raw, for the next few weeks.
I’d love to hear other people’s experiences and reflections on this time.
