It’s Christmas eve and I’m having a very lovely and still evening by myself in my home. Earlier in the day I felt some pangs of not wanting to be alone. Funny the effect that Christmas music can have as it lays out all sorts of expectations for what Christmas Day is supposed to look like. It’s just a day like any other day really, yet we’ve come to infuse it with visions of sugarplums, stockings hung by the chimney with care, and, of all things, the Christmas Ham. I’ve had various invitations for traveling long distances to see people for Christmas, driving adventures to spend the holidays with other friends, or just staying local and having dinner with some friends, but there still seems to be a magnetic pull, a tether of sorts, happening which is keeping me close to home. I felt it strongly as I, feeling a little sullen, debated whether to go to some warm-hearted friend’s home for dinner tonight. A knowingness arose again, reminding me to stay put. I’m truly needing evenings such as these, to be quiet, more inward, with a fire, a nice warming meal (tonight was a delicious Japanese Rice and Seaweed soup), a glass of wine, some time to write and reflect, and the simplicity of just being. As I sense into it, there is something in me that feels like I have journeyed too far from myself and that there is a need to come home, come home to me. I’m not clear yet in all the ways that I have journeyed afar, but there is a distinct coming home-ness reeling me in which feels very right, simple and true.
I’m having a New Year’s Eve party at my home this year, but it will be a very different kind of gathering. It will be a “silent” party. People are welcome to gather starting around 4pm and we’ll spend the rest of the day/evening in silence, except for some devotional/heartful singing later in the evening. I am so looking forward to that day. It feels like a perfect way to transition from one year to the next, with space for reflection, mindfulness, meaningful contact with others, and whatever else may arise from within the silence. The gathering feels as tangible as food to me, as I can sense my hunger for it.
It’s getting late and the wind has begun to howl here. Tomorrow we have a nice storm coming our way which should drop a couple of inches of rain. Whenever it rains lately, it feels like my body is opening up to absorb it, wanting more and more and more of it, to be soaked like a sponge and then be wrung dry, flushing out something old, and making space for whatever new might come as the rainy season abates.