by Kayleen Asbo
It is here in the deepest darkness
Where the longing for inner light burns most brightly.
If we are still enough,
We can sense the whisper of the ages
Beckoning us to suspend-just for awhile- the mind's restless demand for logical answers.
The sacred pattern we celebrate this day is ours, too, to claim:
To find the holy in the most unlikely of places;
To embrace the improbable, even the scandalous
as an unsought-for miracle.
Who needs angels with festal shouts of glory?
There are stars above us silently singing,
Ceaselessly urging us to remember
That there is something Divine within every one of us
Waiting each day to be born.