A World of Shelters

Our 3rd-Graders express themselves through Shelter:

Ava

Elijah

Voss

Claire

Carson

Lucas

Taylor

Isaiah

Eli

Jack

Avella

Cypress

Walking into Winter with Our Own Small Lights

In Passing

How swiftly the strained honey

of afternoon light

flows into darkness

and the closed bud shrugs off

its special mystery

in order to break into blossom:

as if what exists, exists

so that it can be lost

and become precious

~ Lisel Mueller

July was never meant to hold Thanksgiving. There is no room for it, with its abundance of warmth, sunlight, adventures, and leisure time with loved ones. In fullness there is no space for gratitude, for depth of gratitude comes with loss. It seems to be the way we work.

It is therefore fitting, and right, that Thanksgiving has been placed towards this time of year, when even the sunlight, though it may still seem abundant most of the day, takes a cooler slant, seems a little thinner, warns us, almost, that it could go at any moment. Time is spread too thin – it is practically threadbare at the elbows. And hours are filled with doings and workings, so that, even if our loved ones are near, it seems we hardly see them.

In days of old, we would have had harvest-consciousness at this time of year. Working hard to collect the fruits of our labor, and (if a good year) celebrating the abundance. But just beyond the celebration of fullness lie the barren fields, the abandoned tools, the chill in the air, and the whisperings of winter death. It is the loss that makes everything precious, and stirs gratitude from the place where things matter. It is the loss that reminds us cyclically that nothing is permanent, everything a temporary gift. 

I am grateful that my daughter is able to receive an education centered in that place where things matter. I am grateful that she is guided by teachers, songs, and rituals that honor the preciousness of life and spirit. I cannot take it for granted. And it is this gratitude that comes to my mind as we prepare for this year’s Lantern Walk.

It is called a Festival, but it is of a different sort. The exuberant energy of May Faire, when life is bursting forth in blossom and color, is transformed at Michaelmas into a last huzzah as we brace ourselves for the coming darkness. As we approach Lantern Walk, this energy withdraws more and more, readying itself for hibernation, donning its reverent cloak.

Lantern Walk, as it is visualized by our Sanderling community, has two equally important components. First, we are invited to come together to create a sacred space through our sharing – of bread, cider, soup, and warm friendship. It is a time just for this – to stop and see one another, and to share with one another in this small escape from the comings and goings of our lives. And second, within the comfort of this sacred space, we are invited to share the experience of facing that which lies just under the abundance – under the fullness of activity and chatter that fills and forms our daily consciousness. We are invited into silence. Into darkness. Into mystery. We are invited to demonstrate to our children how to offer reverence back to the wonder of Spirit that sustains us. We are invited to learn from our children how to walk into great darkness with innocence and a humble light of our own making.

Let us walk with gratitude together. For just a few hours, let us forget our judgments and dissatisfactions. Let us forget ourselves, and stand with quiet courage, humility, and reverence with our children in this space that is offered to us. Let us not take this day for granted.