Tattered, Rudolf Steiner Speaks from my Wallet

A tattered poem on Winter Solstice tumbles out of my wallet this morning. This Word has spoken to me often from its secure little nest, on the days I pull it out for mantra and on the days it just travels alongside of me.

WINTER SOLSTICE

Behold the Sun
At midnight.
Build with stones
On lifeless ground.

Find in decline,
In death's night,
Creation's new beginning,
Morning's youthful night.

The heights reveal
The gods' eternal word.
The depths guard
The peaceful treasure.

Living in darkness,
Create a Sun.
Weaving in matter,
Know Spirit's delight.

-- Rudolf Steiner

I have carried it for four years, this Word. On days and nights that seemed long, that seemed without light or path for others, it steadied me with an ancient, creation imperative. The Sun was present and I knew it. It brought delight and rebirth.

I wonder now, a few days past a new Spring on the calendar and in my heart, if I am done with it. The wondering passes. I am not. This brings the resolve of Rest. It is not a resolve of tirelessly plodding on, like a sturdy oak, mindless of fatigue or surroundings. It's Presence Possible only in the bearings of that Sun. It's a body-mind-spirit delight found when I sense the right place, the right time, the right work.

It's faith.