Hi Friend,

I hugged my family goodbye as I went out the door into lengthening blue shadows enveloping the curves of soft white snow last Saturday evening. Heading south along the Taconic Parkway in my jeep, my senses deepened into the textures and shapes around me. Turning off my music, I let my senses expand. The road wound between big boulders snuggled under blankets of snow and trees resembling the forests of old. The golden sun was setting on my right, and the nearly full silvery moon was rising above the tips of rosy-tinted branches on my left and there was I, in between them.

On the threshold of Imbolc, itself a threshold moment, I felt the ancient-ness of this particular journey. I was going to offer ministry - we could say giving a talk, but it is so much more than that - to a gathering of people, in this case Quakers, about mystical experiences, activism, and worship. Which is to say about what does it mean to be human, and how can we live our lives fully, amidst the challenges of our times, and the callings of Spirit; the summonings and demands and hopes of the Beloved Community.

As the forest deepened into indigo, the awareness of the times-before-this-time heightened. The long, sometimes slanted yellow headlights on the quiet road reminded me of a lantern: and I, like so many of my ancestors, going forth, hoping to reach the next destination before it got too cold and dark, thinking of the family at home, a part of me wishing I was in the warmth of home myself, instead of going to a strange bed even as gratitude for this particular chance to be of service carried me forth.

In sensing into that which was ancient, generations and generations of travelers along this particular pathway, white folk and Black folk and Indigenous folk; and of many other similar wooded pathways; generations of people visiting one another, sharing presence and messages of peace and strength - I could sense, somewhere between the sun and the moon, the presence of that which is eternal. That Witness; that quiet, still, ever-moving Presence who delights in her dwelling of Paradox.

Lean in to that which is old. I felt, more than heard, that message - and throughout that trip I kept listening to that which was not the (relative) newness of cars and pavements and electric lights and card-keys that blink to open hotel room doors and tv screens that say "welcome sara" when I enter the hotel room draped in hospitable-neutral beige.

I kept practicing that listening the next day, and felt affirmed, somehow, when the meetinghouse that I was speaking in had a real crackling fire, and I got to stand next to it whilst giving my talk. What gift, to be able to share alongside the sacred element of fire, one of our most ancient of companions to humans sharing about spirit and love and heartache.

A few days later (the talk went super great btw)....on a call with a former student/potential client/super cool person, she told me about her new work in a field that seems to epitomize newness: AI. In this case, she is supporting someone in their advocacy work. 'Somtimes he wants me to just be next to him, physically, in some of these spaces,' she reflected to me. Ah, yes, I smiled, I could see that.

That too, is actually a very old pattern: the need experienced by a minister - a person working on the edge of their own spiritual leading, and often on the edge of what society sees as possible - to be accompanied by someone who is grounded, and deep in his/her own practice; someone who can remind them, not always with words, about how to be Earthly even as they are working with cosmic energies. Lean into that which is old, and let it carry you, I told her. Even as you are in the midst of the edge of the newest of the new technologies, what you are confronting, the patterns and the questions, are also very very old .... of how humans trust or don't trust one another, as well as the tools they are creating - and you can lean into the depth amidst the swirling confusions.

I see 'that which is old' in the news, and I don't want to be carried by it... the blatant worship of a god of war; authoritarianism, state-sponsored violence against marginalized communities expanding, not caring who is caught up in the violence; the willingness to destroy your own town/village/city in the name of some version of purification and safety and sanctity (and let's not doubt that much of the racialized immigration conversations around 'legality' and 'belonging' are very much coming out of certain conservative theological notions of purification.). It's deep in American history (you don't even have to look to Europe for such patterns!).

So too are the neighbors who are helping neighbors, my inner Witness reMinds me.

I see that old attempt of covering up stories: acting like what happened didn't happen, changing narratives as if the past doesn't matter.

Learn the real history, I hear more people saying. Yes, that too: that in times of trouble, we need different stories, and histories/stories/rituals/ways of being once cast aside can return, offering something anew as we feed them with a different quality of attention.

So many forms of revealing.

We are preparing for our next Origin Stories course and thus this week I hosted a sweet Origin Stories informational webinar (Yes, will have another one)! As I prepared for it, I felt, more than thought, that old re-enactment: that in times of transformation and uncertainty we return to our beginnings, and sense them anew. Because we humans have long been myth-creators, as well as people who like to listen to one another's myths and stories.

What carries you, oh you who tarry for a moment at the threshold of the ancient and the new?