On the evening of mid winter,

I spent it resting in the belly of my Mother.

I had thought I would, under her sky cloak , light a great fire in her honour, gather beloved friends , make promises and chant melodies to her .

But she had other plans and instead rained her tears of love on the land so that I had to take cover.

And so I took her lead and went deeper .

Enchanted, I watched the flame of a ceremonial candle and marvelled at the wonder of its dance.

I remembered a time thousands of years before,

Before I had donned the blindfold of explanation.

A time when I knew the truth of that flame and why it burns.

And in my contemplation of the flame’s light, a dawning happened in my heart.

I heard memories of my own voice speaking of the dark as if it were something to avoid, defeat, destroy , as if she were an enemy.

And I realised this was never the full story and defeat could never be.

And the unseen ones who’s company I keep filled my eyes with visions of just who the Dark really is.

And how the hardship and terrors that dwell in some of her chambers , though a terrible burden, are as sacred as the height of Lights joys.

They showed me Dark needs not to be conquered but to be seen , for her story to be heard.

She bears a heavy load and knows loneliness all too well because most shun her company for fear she will devour them.

Most do not know that within her are holy chambers too, in which peace and rest abides for exhausted souls.

And of her terrors, she needs to be relieved of them .

And the only way this can be is for hearts full of light , to look her straight in the eye of an enemy and say ;

“I see you . I am not afraid of you.

You are loved.

Throw off that burden and let’s sit for a while and talk of our place in it all .”

-Annette Morris Keane , December 21st 2020

2 thoughts on “Dorcha

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