The Longest Night

There is a gathering storm. It’s palpable, a fear which collates in the streets, a quickening of steps, an avoidance of shadows; keep moving, look ahead, don’t make eye contact, hold close, walk briskly, do not run, do not draw attention to yourself, know your exits. It is a collective fear that is gripping the country not as we approach the solstice which passed without incident but rather as we approach the inauguration. In ancient times we used to burn fires through the longest night because we feared not what was in the dark but that the light would never return. Today, we don’t burn fires and dance by moonlight, we hide and speak in whispered tones about the loss of our liberties, about how best to fight, about what we fear lies in that darkness, that gathering storm. We lie awake at night and cry throughout the day and with each passing moment we grow weaker and weaker as the night grows longer and the darkness slithers across the land. Illness, fear and anger are contagious, they spread like disease. We have to rage against the darkness. Evil is easy, kindness and empathy take work. We have to return to the time of lighting fires, but they aren’t literal fires, they are the fires that burn within us, and as we share our love, our passion, our kindness and compassion, we burn so brightly that we cast a light in every dark recess of those too ignorant or blind to know what is coming as we draw like to like. We have to stop hiding from the shadows and gather our own storm of brightly burning soldiers to cast away the darkness. Don’t wait until the longest night to be a beacon for others. Don’t be swallowed by the darkness.