(No… I’m not talking about anything slippery)
Black Rook in Rainy Weather
by Sylvia Plath
I stumbled onto this poem this week, and I kind of became obsessed with it. I’ve read it each and every night essentially as a prayer: a prayer to see. A prayer that God would help me to look for the plain, black rooks in my life suddenly shining incandescent. For the miracles suddenly illuminated in the plain, barren landscape of life. Truly there are many each and every day. I don’t want to miss them.
I’ve found hope in these words… The idea of trekking stubbornly through this season of fatigue to patch together a content of sorts…. My soul hears those words and says, “Yes! Yes!!! I want that. I need that.”
And so it is advent. And I am waiting. I am waiting for light to pierce the darkness, and though nothing is extraordinarily bad this year, that darkness, at times, feels so thick. I have so much to bring me joy, but I am continually pushing through a haze of fatigue, of numbness, or lethargy, listlessness, yes of depression.
Surely though there is a light in this darkness too, self-imposed though it may be (is it?). Surely Christmas is dawning again in our lives, as it has in even the darkest of years. I found the light the year Mom was diagnosed as all of life stood in limbo waiting… full of anxiety and fear as my ‘normal life’ suddenly shattered. My ridiculous, false sense of security and belief that ‘things only happen to other people’ ripped out from under me. There was light even then–in my unborn child full of hope and promise. In my husband’s hand still there to hold. In my faith and stubborn belief that God IS good. I found the light the year after Mom died, sitting in a lonely hotel room in Kansas knowing that another beloved family member was about to leave this life, my husband on the other side of the world in Iraq feeling so helpless as he wanted to be with his Grandpa to say goodbye. I found it there in family members and baby giggles and children playing and the kinship of shared circumstances. In fuzzy phone connections where “I’m here’s,” and “I love you’s” were said. It was a slim shaft in the blackness at times, but I found the light.
And I am finding the light this year.
If I look for the rooks…. If I look for the flashes of brightness born out of the mundane. If I allow the miracles all around me to pierce the haze my heart is in, I will continue to find the light.
And the light will be born again in me. May it be continually born again in me.
Melody asked us to “Lucubrate” this week ….. To ponder in the evenings, by the light of a candle (follow link for further information). This poem fell into my lap, and these are the thoughts that it brought in my ‘nocturnal study and meditation.’
I am holding tight to the promise and hope that I find in ordinary little rooks.