I woke at my usual time:  5 am.  I drew the blinds on my southeast-facing window.  I knew Venus would be waiting for me; but there was another heavenly body appearing, it seemed, right next to it. (Actually, they were millions of miles apart.)  A quick check of my phone told me it was Jupiter and that this conjunction won’t appear like this again until 2039.  In the quiet hours of the morning, I remembered a line from the old Weston Priory song, “All the stars [planets in this case] are laughing at our wonder.”  

We gaze, however, not only to the open skies but also to daily headlines which most often these days bring not wonder and laughter but tragedy, sorrow, and even fear for the future of our fragile planet.   We may have grown numb to the pain, while we try mightily to hold a creeping sense of powerlessness at bay.  Yet our commitment to contemplative practice urges us onward; we continue to sit, to let go and wait.  In this painful crucible, a promise uttered long ago is whispered ever so gently in the deepest place of our hearts: “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overpower it.”

Let us continue to take refuge in our communal contemplative practice; our shared belief in the ultimate goodness of humankind; and of course in the light which does shine even amidst the darkness, all of which make even the stars (and planets) laugh in wonder at our fidelity.    

Keep Sitting,
Margaret and Nancy