Holding Vigil for What's Coming

solace and inspiration in the darkness

photo courtesy of Luis La

What consoles you in darkness? What do you do when the way forward is not clear? These are essential considerations in difficult times. These days, between the immensity of our global instability and my own disquieting uncertainty, my usually tenacious hope is easily dimmed. Although my discomfort chides me to Do something! a deeper knowing urges me to slow down and attune to the quiet Mystery that moves everything.

My nightly dreams reflect a colossal shift underway. Individually and collectively, we appear to be in a phase of deep deconstruction—rapidly dismantling something heavy and ancient, while almost imperceptibly creating a lattice that will raise something new. We are in a between time, with little firm ground to stand on. In my dream last night, I was learning to scuba dive—gaining a capacity to breath and flow underwater.

My partner Stephen’s inspiration to view this as a time of vigil is a bit like learning to scuba dive. The notion of vigil inspires me to gently float, instead of struggling to swim against the current and drowning my hope. Yet maintaining the buoyant quality of vigil in radically uncertain times is a moment-to-moment spiritual practice.

Last summer, when unforeseen circumstances required us to leave our beloved home, Stephen and I had no prospects for an alternate place to live and work. With meager means and a fast-approaching deadline to move out, the likelihood that we’d find a desirable place appeared slim. The idea that whatever we found would actually be the rural land of our dreams was completely ludicrous. However, we held vigil, inviting the miraculous to enter our lives. We listened deeply. We watched for signs in the darkness. It was not easy. We repeatedly felt and processed strong feelings of irritation, anxiety, and despair. Finally, after several long, uncomfortable weeks, having followed an unimaginable series of twists and turns, we landed in a 50-acre retreat center in Washington’s Skagit Valley—a place called Cedar Springs.

Being here is nothing short of a miracle. Yet our vigil continues. The land itself is a kind of vigil, with a stillness that is fully alive and creative, yet yielding and adaptive. We are here for a 6-month experiment, living in an uncomfortable tension between potential and reality—feeling our desire to stay, without any clarity about how that will happen. So we keep vigil in the Mystery.

You too may be living in the tension of your own uncertainties. With enormous potential for both wholeness and fragmentation, for delight and despair, it seems prudent to use our energy wisely—to refrain from pushing against the flow of life. This land that I now live on is a continual reminder that when I stop trying to control a situation, I make space for grace. When I relax in the ocean of uncertainty, I float in the mystery. When I stop viewing myself as hero or victim, I can see my role as co-creator. 

On this winter Solstice, I am inspired by an image of us awakening, one by one, and attuning to a deep knowing that quietly speaks to each of us. May our shared vigil this season inspire us toward peace and beauty, and create space for the miraculous.

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Vigil

vig·​il - ˈvi-jəl (noun)

1. the act of keeping awake at times when sleep is customary, especially to keep watch or pray; a period of wakefulness.

2. an event or period of time when a person or group prayerfully awaits, especially at night.

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If you feel inspired to join together in the darkness and anchor light for a New Earth, join me online for short, meditative evenings in the New Year. Click for the details.

You might also consider giving yourself or others a Wheel of Wisdom oracle reading this season, click here for information.

Wishing you deep peace and abiding hope,
Helen