the sacred waiting ground

notes on winter

from my window,
orange-eyed and drunk with sunset,
i watch the belly of the earth breathing.
she is slow, stilled,
perfect in her rest.

a lone eagle pierces through the quiet sky
holy in her winged silence.
i ask her what work there is to be done.
nothing, she whispers in reply.
can’t you see i am busy dreaming?

i close my eyes and fall into a deep sleep.

here, in the threshold,
here, at the hinge—
held together by threads
of darkness and light.
just as we are.
just as we are.

this
is the sacred waiting ground.
the luminous pause where the earth asks nothing of us but to join her in her dreaming—
begs for our rest.

my prayer is that we meet her here.

that we throw off the haste and urgency of the new year and all its resolutions.
that we sit in the sacred crucible that is winter and re-learn the miraculousness of our own stillness and silence.
that we use this holy hour to comb through our inner landscape,
rid ourselves of all its death and decay,
ready our soil for the chorused unfurling of spring.

it will come,
it is promised,
just as the sunrise and moonrise have never faltered.

this season of darkness is not one to be wasted.

dream. rest. dream.

watch the belly of the earth closely.

this is hallowed territory.

with great love,

emory.

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