The Work of Lovers

The absolute authority of a sovereign blizzard.

Wind howls without taking a breath as the roads entirely disappear. Lapping waves of snow push up against the windows and with abysmal temperatures, the main hope being the heat holds.

I remember Christmas in Kenya. While the West's version of consumerism infected the wealthy of this area, the religious aspect still played the bigger part in celebrations. The Rains came to an end in December which marked the declining danger of mudslides traveling down to Nairobi from the highlands. Those who migrated from tribal lands to the city for work were finally able to make the long journey home to family and friends upcountry.

Christmas was community, food, and family. It's all that could be afforded and yet, it was deeper and richer than what I have experienced in my home culture. We've moved so far away from the earth and all She teaches. A sorrow older than this body eats the whole of me this time of year.

As snow piles, deeper than my thighs, it insures a healing silence. Cars and people have been made to rest. Animals are tucked away in winter poustinias. The hush reminds me of Love – no power structures or hierarchies – it is not for sale. Such true gifts are free and are passed from heart to heart unmentioned. It is how the Light of the world is seen and known.

This work of lovers, giving everything unto the moment in order to be awake in the eternal.

This is how we name each other.

This is why we are here.