Making Room for What Arrives When Nothing Is Held
Advent Week Four- Deep Peace
As Advent comes to a close, the gesture changes.
If the earlier weeks invited us to welcome the darkness,
to let sorrow soften into love,
and to be held in comfort and joy,
this final week turns toward peace.
(If you missed any of the previous week’s posts, you can access them here.)
Not peace as an idea.
Not peace as something achieved.
But peace throughout the whole of our being —
the kind of peace that makes listening possible.
Listening without anticipation.
There is nothing new to add.
No insight to grasp.
No effort required.
No connection to make happen.
This week is about making room.
Making room for what arrives
when nothing is held.
When we stop bracing.
When reaching quiets.
When we allow ourselves to be met.
This is the threshold —
not a place we go,
but a place that opens
when we stop carrying.
And it is not drifting into sleep.
It is a kind of awake rest —
present, receptive, and unforced.
Deep Peace lives here.
A Listening Invitation
I’d like to offer two pieces of music this week.
You don’t need to do both — but you can, if you feel drawn.
Each offers a different way of resting awake and listening without effort.
Watching Listening
Jóhann Jóhannsson — “Flight from the City”
This piece invites listening through the eyes as much as the ears.
The black-and-white movement —
the spirals, the water, the shared weight and release —
carries a quiet peace that doesn’t ask for interpretation.
You may simply watch.
Let the movement wash through you.
Notice where your body softens without trying to.
There’s nothing to understand here.
Just presence.
Inner Listening
Arvo Pärt — “Spiegel im Spiegel”
For this listening, you might choose to sit or lie down comfortably.
Close your eyes.
Let the darkness behind your eyelids become a kind of screen.
As the music plays, simply wait.
You may begin to notice subtle movement —
shifts of color, light, or sensation.
There is no need to name, direct, or analyze what appears.
Just watch and let it move as it wishes.
If nothing appears, that is fine too.
Listening itself is enough.
If you notice yourself drifting toward sleep, you might simply let your attention rest on one place—your back, your feet, or the breath arriving on its own.
A Quiet Word
This kind of listening can be difficult to sustain alone.
Not because it is complex,
but because it asks us not to rush toward meaning.
Many of us were never shown how to rest awake,
how to listen without fixing,
how to stay with what is present
without turning it into a story.
This is why shared rhythms —
seasonal, communal, ritual — matter.
Not to tell us what to think,
but to help us remember how to listen.
The Sacred Nights of Winter
As Advent gives way to the turning of the year, many traditions recognize a quiet span often called the Holy Nights — the twelve nights between Christmas and Epiphany.
Long before they were named in Christian calendars, these nights were held as a threshold time:
a pause between years,
between darkness and returning light,
between what has been and what is not yet formed.
In ancient lunar–solar calendars, these days didn’t quite “belong” to either year.
They were experienced as an in-between — a listening time.
Some traditions speak of the veil being thinner.
Others simply say the world grows quieter,
making it easier to hear what usually goes unnoticed.
However you understand them, these nights have long been honored as a time to receive —
not answers,
but orientation.
A Gentle Invitation
During this time, a trusted mentor and spiritual friend of mine, Lynn Jericho, offers Inner Christmas messages — short, daily reflections shared across all twelve Holy Nights.
Each day brings a quiet message for listening and inward orientation.
And every three days, those who wish are invited to gather on Zoom for a simple community conversation — a place to share what’s stirring, to listen together, and to remember that this kind of inner work doesn’t have to be done alone.
I’m sharing Lynn’s work simply because I trust it, and because this season matters.
Across many cultures, the days around the winter solstice have been held as a time when the soul is especially receptive to inspiration, insight, and gentle guidance for the year ahead. In a world that often feels rushed, fragmented, and loud, these nights offer a rare invitation to realignment — not by striving to fix anything, but by listening more deeply for what wants to be born.
Her work complements mine beautifully.
I work through singing and embodied sound.
She works through conversation, biography, and quiet inquiry.
There is no requirement to believe anything in particular.
No pressure to “do it right.”
Just companionship in listening.
Her offering is pay-what-you-can, guided by what the work feels worth to you.
I receive no financial benefit for sharing this. I’m offering it because practices like these — seasonal, intentional, and shared — help us remember why we are here, and how to live with greater consciousness, care, and purpose.
If it speaks to you, you’re welcome to explore it in your own way.
A Closing Word
Thank you for reading with me this Advent.
These reflections have taken me on a very special journey —
and knowing you’re here has mattered more than I can say.
As we move toward the Holy Nights,
may peace settle not just around you,
but through you.
May you rest.
May you listen.
May you be gently met.
