Glimmers in the Dark by Lexie Wolf

This past Sunday evening was Women’s Circle. When I sit in circle, something deep in me remembers why I am here—and that it’s all going to be okay. Our theme this month was self-compassion. As always, I was grateful for the wisdom that came through our sweet group. There’s such reciprocity when we share what’s in our hearts, even just a little. It opens something in me.

Our relationship to self and Source is the foundational relationship, the one that shapes all the others. Self-compassion is necessary if we want to move through the world with any real kindness or love.

Kuan Yin, the bodhisattva of compassion and mercy, sat on our altar. Her name is a shortened version of She Who Sees and Hears the Cry from the Human World. I often ask her to hold me in compassion when I’m hurting, and to hold me in mercy when I’ve caused pain. She is us, and we are her—the personification of our higher, awakened selves.

Together, we sat with Kuan Yin. We sat with each other. We sat with ourselves in the sanctuary of circle. We shared a self-healing ritual drawing on the nourishing, healing power of water. Incantation, self-anointing, meditation, sharing.

In the quiet I listened to the murmur of sounds from outside our cottage. The buzz and hum of a world that feels like it has lost its way. Collectively forgotten that we are made from and for love. Often, these days, that murmur feels like a silent scream.

As the evening closed, I reminded everyone that we’d be returning home under a dark moon—a potent time for spiritual tending. I went home as the sun was setting and sat outside in the unfolding darkness, letting the medicine of the circle settle into me.

When I opened my eyes, I saw them—fireflies, blinking softly in the shadows. The first of the season that I’ve witnessed. Tiny sparks of light dancing around me. Humble illuminations. Fleeting, but enough.

This morning the glimmer, the spark is present in the space between my thoughts.