Of Light

... and enlightenment

Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash

Winter solstice ... the shortest day of the year. And both Christmas and Hanukkah approach, with their celebrations of light. At this time of year, I always feel grateful for a focus on light, at a time when it is needed so desperately for so many reasons.

My morning thoughts shifted from light to music (surprise) -- and what I would be sharing with you about my commitment to singing. (If you missed "My Three Commitments," here it is... ) https://halgrotevant.substack.com/p/my-three-commitments

But then I sat down for breakfast and checked my Substack inbox. The first new piece that caught my eye was a poem by Paul Wittenberger, "Why Are We So Alone". https://wittenberger.substack.com/p/why-are-we-so-alone

I always pay attention to his poems when they come across my desk -- they reflect and meditate on deep emotions, often ones that it's easier to turn away from. His first two stanzas packed a punch:

Why are we

so alone,

alone

why are we

so alone

our children gone,

our children gone,

our wives and

lovers flown.

Well, that was a sobering way to begin the day. After my first read-through, I paused for a moment, and then thought -- That is so difficult and so sad ... Maybe I could write a counter-poem in response, a poem of hope.

But then I thought of something I've heard David Whyte https://substack.com/@davidwhyte say many times about grief ... The only way through it is to embrace it, to take it in, even to befriend it. Once you know it ... really know it ... you can love the changed person that you are. There is no going back. You are changed.

So a big "no" to the counter-poem.

But then the next Substack post in my inbox was from Diamond-Michael Scott, who writes at The Chocolate Taoist. His essay for today, "Sitting with the Frustration and Rage of Others"

Sitting With the Frustration And Rage of Others

was the perfect counterpoint to Paul's poem "Why Are We So Alone". Connecting the morning’s dots, it was about sitting with the grief of others. His subtitle elaborates: "How to Embrace Mindful Compassion Without Getting Sunk."

For me, that continues to be a daily struggle... although I do feel I'm learning. I continue to find it nearly impossible to watch or listen to news. The first bloody headlines are always about what's happening with the government. It's so outlandish, it seems absolutely surreal. I just can't watch it. And the other bloody headlines are literally about blood -- the wars, the famines, the killings, the indignities, the inhumanities. All things that human beings are inflicting on other human beings. I just can't watch that either.

But Diamond-Michael's essay this morning helped pull it (and me) all together. He distilled two important questions:

How can we be compassionate listeners without allowing their negativity and toxicity to pull us under?

How do we honor their suffering while maintaining our own equilibrium?

His essay builds on the contemporary writing of psychotherapist and writer Mark Epstein. Quoting Diamond-Michael:

Epstein emphasizes that being present with suffering—our own or someone else’s—is not about solving it or even fully absorbing it. Instead, it’s about creating space where pain can be seen, felt, and held without being resisted or suppressed.

In his book The Trauma of Everyday Life, Epstein writes, “If we can let go of the idea that we need to fix each other, we can be with one another in a way that feels more whole.”

This wholeness, however, does not mean collapsing into the pain. It means holding it gently, without letting it engulf us.

I won't summarize his entire essay -- I do encourage you to read it in full. It includes several very practical strategies for being open, aware, and responsive to the pain that surrounds us without letting it drown us. There are several other writers on Substack who regularly discuss approaches to mindfulness and the integration of Eastern and Western philosophy. I learn from all of them.

So, this morning, I won't be writing a counter-poem for Paul. Instead, I have re-read his poem several times and taken in its essence. I have felt the pain that it expresses and even related it to my own. But then, in Diamond-Michael's words:

As we learn to hold space for the pain around us, we discover that we, too, are held—by the vast, unyielding stillness of the Tao.

My wish for all of us as we experience all kinds of darkness at this season, is that we can hold that space for it without letting it pull us under, but then know that we are just a small piece of something much greater, something transcendent and mysterious and life-giving, and that we can, therefore, move forward in our lives with intention. May we all see that light in front of us. In the words of Henri Nouwen, whose wisdom has guided and comforted me for many years, but especially through my darkest days in 2022-2023, "You can't see the whole path ahead, but there is usually enough light to take the next step."