IT FELT LOVE - Hafiz – Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

How
Did the rose
Ever open its heart

And give to this world
All its
Beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light
Against its
Being,

Otherwise,
We all remain
Too
Frightened.

I’ve been feeling really heavy lately:  feel as though I’m wearing a weighted vest and that my core is full of lead.  That’s probably why my body doesn’t feel right, and doesn’t feel good.  My knees hurt – both of them, not just the one I injured 25 years ago.  My stomach is bloated and my weight is up and it doesn’t seem to matter what I eat.

Of course, it’s a heavy time of year.  The fall is full of anniversaries of loss, and they are reinforced by the trees losing their leaves, the gradual decline of daylight hours, and the falling temperatures.  I don’t like the winter, don’t like being cold, don’t like so much dark.

And, too, I’ve been changing which is hard, even when it’s good.  Change involves moving into the new and the unknown; and that’s not something I have a habit of embracing.  If there is an adventurous part of my soul, it has not yet revealed itself to me.

*            *            *            *

I spent the other day at Vikingsborg – the guesthouse of The Convent of St. Birgitta – where I celebrated my birthday with a week’s stay three month’s ago.  The Sisters – all six of them – have been decorating the house for Christmas.  It is a beautiful old mansion with lots of gleaming wood and tall windows and high ceilings, and a lovely spot for a Christmas party.  The Sister’s mission is one of hospitality, and they support themselves by providing meals and lodging – reservations required.  Christmas is a busy time.

The Sisters have decorated each window and doorway with evergreens, and holly, and red balls, and bows.  There was a big tree in one corner covered with golden angels and small white lights.  Underneath the tree were piles of brightly wrapped packages – but Sister G told me that they were artificial – just empty boxes for show, and for holiday spirit.  “People think the Sisters have lots of gifts!” She told me, laughing gaily.  “You do have lots of gifts,” I said, “but they are the gifts that really count – the gifts of the heart.”  Sister laughed again.

When I walked into the main foyer or “lobby” (a very unsatisfying word for such an elegant space) of the house, Mother told me that it was a good day for me to come because I could help Sister G with her work – beginning to create the nativity scene.  Sister said that every year it is different, and maybe I could help her with some ideas.

I was enchanted.  Have always wanted a crèche at Christmas – we weren’t “religious” and didn’t have one growing up, and as an adult, most of the “commercial” ones I saw were way too expensive, or just didn’t appeal.   To help set one up – in such a place – was magical.

Sister said she needed ideas, but I think her asking was rather an act of hospitality; offering me nourishment of a certain kind.  This year she was building the crèche in the corner of what I call the Parlor – an elegant formal room off of the main hall, but which also has access to the Chapel.  She had placed a table in the corner, created a sloping hill on it, covered that with what looked like felted rug pad, and was trying to prop cardboard boxes against the sides of the stable to make the building bigger.  Above the stable she had hung a dark blue cloth with a cardboard Victorian angel attached to it and some multi-colored lights.

There was a lot of discussion about the lights.  There were small white lights draped over the stable and then also over the grounds and Bill the caretaker was supposed to help connect more strands and do something else I didn’t understand, but he was out roaming the grounds with a wheelbarrow.  I had seen him.  Sister said he was tired of her.

There was another Sister there (from a different order), newly arrived from the Congo, and staying for a week, before heading to California to her new mission – which wasn’t ready for her yet.  (That’s the short version of her story).  And so Sister Jeanne-Marie and I helped cover the grounds of the stable with strips of moss that Sister G had gathered from outside.

I didn’t spend much time outside this trip, because it was very cold, but I know just where Sister had done her gathering – over on the right side of the house (if you face the water) – behind the pathway to my favorite rock, and close to the little round garden bed with the statue of the Virgin Mary holding the Baby Jesus.  A very appropriate spot to gather moss for the occasion.

I usually leave St. Birgitta around 4.  It is nestled in a cluster of tiny twisting back roads.  There is little traffic, and no streetlights.  When it is dark, it is very very dark, and I am more comfortable when I see clearly where I am going.  This evening, though, I was late; after a brilliantly sunny day, the sun seemed to suddenly drop into Long Island Sound, and the sky was just left with streaks of rose pink.

In an effort to economize, Mother and the Sisters religiously turn off all unneeded lights.  The porch where I had been working is filled with floor to ceiling glass, and the sun had kept it brightly lit.  Once inside the heavy door into the main part of the house, it was dark except for the chapel – where the Sisters were attending Mass – and the little lights on the tree and surrounding the crèche.

I went in to see how far Sister G had gotten, I had been busy and missed my chance to help put out the figures, I thought.  But Sister hadn’t gotten to the figures yet either.  She had created big steps in front of the table and a path leading to the stable for the adoration, and on one side there was a pond – made from a sheet of glass – because, she said, there were a few very tiny ducks.

I stopped to write a note for Mother – saying I’d be back to see the crèche and wish them a Merry Christmas, but Mass finished just as I was done and I got to chat with Mother instead.

I told her how beautiful everything looked, and how it made me feel happy because my grandmother had decorated the windows with greenery the same way, and it reminded me of when I was little and our family traditions.

Mother spoke about Christmas, and about Advent – the time before Christmas – the time when we are preparing and waiting for the Gift.  Not the kind of gifts in packages she said, they are symbolic of the gift we are to receive.  And all month, she said, we give little things and do little things to open up more space to receive the gift.

Actually, I’m not really sure what she said.  Mother is not a native English speaker, and still has an accent (Indian) and immediate access to a limited range of English words.  She speaks five other languages, but I don’t.  So exactly what words she used and what she actually said I can’t quote – but I know what she meant, and I know what she was telling me.

Mother said the lights were symbolic, too – but that the yearning for light was universal at this time of year.  That even long ago the pagans (who would be me) would celebrate with light.

And this is not what she said or thought she meant to say, but it is what I heard, and why this Convent of St. Birgitta – in the middle of Connecticut’s gold coast – brings me to a place of deep peace:  In the winter’s cold darkness, in times of heavy trouble and of fear, wherever there is even a single little light, we can let it touch our heart and open us up to feel the gift of love.  And that love and that light is of such magnificence that a single touch streaks the gloom with rose and lights a flame within that both uplifts and sustains us.

And so, friends, what I wish for you and what I wish for me, is that every light you encounter: every candle, every bulb, and every match.  Every shimmer of the water, every gleam in the eye or glow on the skin, every bounce in your step – or that of a child’s, every sparkle of laughter you hear, and every hint of sunlight or moonlight or starlight, connect with the light you have in your heart.  Such brilliance will even illuminate the unknown and the hidden dark corners that we fear.   May every glimmer of light seen or felt bring you joy, and peace, and a rosy wave of warmth.

With Love,
Margaret