Winter Moon of the Winter Solstice
Christmas. Today. Right now the electricity of children twirling in their beds after a sleepless night, the clatter of little feet racing down stairs, bleary eyed parents waking up, wondering why all of this has to happen so early in the morning cause psychic vibrations to pulse through the country, hitting even the top of Shadow Mountain. If they were lit, they would put the northern lights to shame.
It’s sweet in its way though there is a slight tinge, ok maybe not slight, of greed, of concupiscence being lodged in innocent hearts. This morning I’m traveling with the innocence of wonder and hope and pleasure, the sounds heard through the night of reindeer on the roof, some sort of clattering in the chimney or on the stairs or in the elevator shaft. As I do, I realize this is a true aspect of American culture, not practiced by all Americans to be sure, but enough that the magic of Christmas morning is a part of us we all recognize.
While it happens elsewhere, up here on Shadow Mountain we woke up to a light dusting of snow, a cloudy sky and the dying crescent of the winter solstice moon occluded, but partially visible. It would not surprise, in this mood, to see a long string of reindeer push up above black mountain, a victorian sleigh attached and a jolly old elf holding the reigns. I would be pleased in fact.
Whatever the inner push that moves you this morning, take a moment to drink in the flavor of this old family holiday, so disconnected from the notion of incarnation, but not too far from pagan joy in the evergreen tree and its brave lights.
Winter Moon of the Winter Solstice
My mother and my Aunt Virginia helped me. At the family farm in Morristown, Indiana I drug myself along the sofa, my head often collapsed on the floor, getting rug burns as I pulled it along with the rest of my body. They helped, but it was only that young boy who could move his legs, drag his body along. He did it. Since then, I have identified walking upright in the world as a major theme of my life.
During holiseason many cultures celebrate holidays of light: hanukkah, diwali, christmas, for example. They are rituals that stand against the primal fear occasioned by the winter solstice; that the sun will never return, that the world will continue to grow dark. Even last night at mussar we spoke of the light of the candle, finding the light reflected in unusual places, the light that can get us through this period.
The sabbath experiment. I liked it for the most part. There was a couple of hours + for reading. I reread the material on zeal in the Mussar text translated by Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan. I also read the Torah portion for this week, the story of Sarah ending with the death of Abraham. Finally got into 
We have entered the corporate zone. Black friday is a religious event in board rooms across this great land, accountants eagerly showing spreadsheets of how much money will be made from poor people desperate for a decent present to give loved ones. Yes, once we’ve put away the gravy boats, the extra large platters, the aluminum foil we can move on to the biggest revenue source-I mean, holiday-of all: Christmas.
The notion of incarnation and its celebration hooked up with the Roman Saturnalia and the rest is Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I don’t know what percentage of annual retail sales occur post-Thanksgiving, but I’m sure it’s more than you’d think. According to 
My version though puts forward not an individual event in Bethlehem, not just incarnation in one child, but an incarnation in every child. Each babe is a true miracle, the universe creating and recreating creatures who can reflect on it. Life, as a random feature of development on this blessed planet, animates, literally, inanimate matter. Life is a godlike power, awesome and equal to any of the claims about the powers of Allah, G*d, Vishnu, Mithras, Ahura-Mazda.
Earlier in the fall when I got up to feed the dogs Orion stood over our fence between the house and the garage, in the southern sky. Still in the southern sky he has moved on since then until he now resides over Black Mountain, several degrees further west. As he moves, he serves, as many constellations do, as a celestial clock of the Great Wheel. The further west he goes, the deeper into winter we are. Weather doesn’t always synch up with his movement any more, but that’s our fault, not his.
Here’s an odd outcome of the election. I’m planning on joining Congregation Beth Evergreen. Strange, huh? Turns out you don’t have to be Jewish. Weird, to me, but true.
Then, there’s Rabbi Jamie Arnold. He’s an unusual guy: an athlete, a good musician, a composer and arranger, too, an intellectual, and an embodiment of compassion leavened with toughness. This combination of skills and character make him a compelling leader.
But mostly there’s the potential for action against the impending Trump regime. Politics is not a solo sport; it requires allies. Congregation Beth Evergreen seems to have a core of folks who’ve done actual work in political situations. It clearly has a number of folks who want to do work on the Trump watch. That includes me. My politics and my spiritual journey have always been tightly wound together so working with folks at Congregation Beth Evergreen seems like a continuation.
Holiseason. I find myself soothed and enriched by certain traditions. The holidays are among them. When I eased my psyche into holiseason yesterday, I realized that the holidays will help me survive the insults of Trump’s election.
After Thanksgiving, or around it sometimes, the Wheel turns to the festivals of light like Diwali, Hannukah, Christmas. We decorate and illuminate. We sing songs, give and receive gifts, enter into traditions older, much older than our nation.
And, improbably, it will be Thanksgiving next week. There is no hint of over the river and through the woods weather to stimulate that Thanksgiving feeling. We may get a storm on Thursday. That would help.