On New Year's Eve/Old Year's night, four friends and I gathered on the beach to reflect on the months past and be thoughtful together re; what the coming year might bring. We each brought something with us to contribute to our picnic and to a simple seaside/fireside 'cleanse & burn' ritual. Penelope and Raymond brought firewood and matches, Pam & John brought paper and pencils, I brought a muffin tray with twelve glass jars each one carrying a candle atop a bed of salt, grain or brown rice.
As part of our reflective process, we took the candles down to the shoreline as darkness fell, spacing them deliberately out along the contours of the coastlne; we took turns to light them, sharing a communal match to pass the flame along from one person to another, one candle to another. When all twelve were lit, we returned to our bonfire, gluwein & conversation, keeping an eye on the candles as the tide steadily came in.
The sea crept up on the candles in their small jars, swirled around them, lifted them lightly and set them down again. I cannot help thinking of this in the context of the horrifying earthquakes - first in Christchurch and now in Japan - and the resulting tsunamis that engulfed Northern Japan last night and are now threatening coastlines around the globe.
The hope I want to hold onto is this: the flames wavered; they wavered, but did not go out.
Looking at astronaut Douglas Wheelock's stunning images of our beautiful planet, taken from the space station, it is hard to believe that down here there is devastation and chaos in so many parts of the world. I found them calming. http://twitpic.com/photos/Astro_Wheels Your small prayer video is beautiful and very moving Claire.
this metaphor is usually trotted out to justify some wacked-out economic theory that supposedly helps the poor as well as the privileged. we know how well that works. but in it's simplest interpretation...i like the implication of how we are all affected by the great expanse of water, its rising as well as its fallng, how it connects us in the most primal way. your ceremony was lovely claire. sometime i'd like to be there, floating my glass boat, too, lit from within.
Fire and water, in opposition, in equipoise - through you, in collaboration. Brave flag of flame, gentle and jostling hands of surf, lowering dusk, fragile illumination. An ever-so-brief meditation, as fleeting and enduring as life, as beautiful. To be blessed. Thank you, as always, CB. Gaia rages and weeps. It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.
On New Year's Eve/Old Year's night, four friends and I gathered on the beach to reflect on the months past and be thoughtful together re; what the coming year might bring. We each brought something with us to contribute to our picnic and to a simple seaside/fireside 'cleanse & burn' ritual. Penelope and Raymond brought firewood and matches, Pam & John brought paper and pencils, I brought a muffin tray with twelve glass jars each one carrying a candle atop a bed of salt, grain or brown rice.
ReplyDeleteAs part of our reflective process, we took the candles down to the shoreline as darkness fell, spacing them deliberately out along the contours of the coastlne; we took turns to light them, sharing a communal match to pass the flame along from one person to another, one candle to another. When all twelve were lit, we returned to our bonfire, gluwein & conversation, keeping an eye on the candles as the tide steadily came in.
The sea crept up on the candles in their small jars, swirled around them, lifted them lightly and set them down again. I cannot help thinking of this in the context of the horrifying earthquakes - first in Christchurch and now in Japan - and the resulting tsunamis that engulfed Northern Japan last night and are now threatening coastlines around the globe.
The hope I want to hold onto is this: the flames wavered; they wavered, but did not go out.
They did not go out. Your video speaks movingly. That is the hope I hold as well. xo
ReplyDeleteThat the candle was in a beaker made it all the more poignant.
ReplyDeleteI like to think we bloggers help to keep the flame alive by insistence on expressions of our truths.
ReplyDeleteThe video and that one word constitute a work of art.
Looking at astronaut Douglas Wheelock's stunning images of our beautiful planet, taken from the space station, it is hard to believe that down here there is devastation and chaos in so many parts of the world. I found them calming. http://twitpic.com/photos/Astro_Wheels
ReplyDeleteYour small prayer video is beautiful and very moving Claire.
Very nicely done, I watched it a few times.
ReplyDeletea rising tide floats all boats.
ReplyDeletethis metaphor is usually trotted out to justify some wacked-out economic theory that supposedly helps the poor as well as the privileged. we know how well that works. but in it's simplest interpretation...i like the implication of how we are all affected by the great expanse of water, its rising as well as its fallng, how it connects us in the most primal way.
your ceremony was lovely claire.
sometime i'd like to be there, floating my glass boat, too, lit from within.
xxoo
susan
Fire and water, in opposition, in equipoise - through you, in collaboration. Brave flag of flame, gentle and jostling hands of surf, lowering dusk, fragile illumination. An ever-so-brief meditation, as fleeting and enduring as life, as beautiful. To be blessed. Thank you, as always, CB. Gaia rages and weeps. It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.
ReplyDelete