Long December Night
The Dark Season Oracle Door XXIII
The long December night knows my name.
It has held me awake with children breathing beside me,
with milk, with worry, with prayers whispered into darkness.
This is not loneliness.
This is guardianship.
Motherhood lives here — not as role, but as field.
A vast feminine vigilance that listens through walls, through sleep, through time.
The body becomes a vessel.
The night becomes a womb again.
I am writing this now.
And as I write in The Sacred Book of Women, I find the same truth waiting for me:
“There is a kind of love that does not shine.
It keeps watch.
It learns the sound of every breath in the house
and knows which one needs listening to, even in sleep.
This love does not ask to be seen —
it asks only that life continues.”
That is the energy of this night.
In the long December dark, nothing is demanded.
Everything is allowed to ripen.
Sacred feminine energy does not rush the dawn —
it keeps the fire steady until morning remembers itself.
And as I write in the book, I also write this:
“The sacred feminine is not soft because it is weak.
It is soft because it is enduring.
It bends through the night
so the world does not break.”
This door belongs to that lineage.
The long December night is not empty.
It is full of women keeping the world alive in the dark.
And tonight,
I am one of them.
