August | Stillness

On the 10th August we were a large circle around a simple altar of captured rain water, for it had not been long since the heavy, welcome rains had quenched the parched soils. In this beautiful circle we all sang sacred songs written by Rev Natacha Ledwidge and songs from our choir’s Threshold Choir repertoire. For personal and collective reflection and breath we held precious silences and stillness, interspersed with one or two poems. In the midst of this we took part in a ritual of passing around a jug of rain water and silently or aloud offering our prayers or reflections into the space. The sharing was deeply moving and each prayer seemed to speak from the collective heart as well as the personal. The prayers held in this rain water were afterwards ceremonially released into the Thames to join the great cycle of rain again. This was indeed a circle of light with a strong sense of community.  We would like to deeply thank everyone who held this circle with us in August. Your presences, your voices, your silences were profoundly felt and celebrated. 

The following resources were gratefully shared at the OneLight Gathering on Friday 10th August 2018 at London's monthly Interfaith Ceremony, generously hosted at Notting Hill's Essex Unitarian Church.



A Community Of The Spirit
by Rumi

There is a community of the spirit.

Join it, and feel the delight

of walking in the noisy street,

and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,

and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes

to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,

if you want to be held.

Sit down in this circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel

the shepherd’s love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.

Don’t accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.

Taste the lovers mouth in yours.

You moan, “She left me.” “He left me”.

Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.

Think of who created thought!

Why do you stay in prison

when the door is wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.

Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always

widening rings of being.


by David Whyte

At the edge of silence

you suddenly realized

that you had been given

the complete and utter gift

of your own transparency,

the revelation of your own

exact boundary with the world.

The frontier

between silence

and speech exactly the line

you must cross

to give yourself

while saving yourself,

the gleam in your heart and your eye,

another sun rising, the old memories


after a long night of absence

and the world again suddenly

worth risking,

worth seeing, worth innocence,

worth everything.

How The Light Comes
by Jan Richardson

I cannot tell you

how the Light comes.


What I know

is that it is more ancient

than imagining.


That it travels

across an astounding expanse

to reach us.


That it loves

searching out

what is hidden,

what is lost,

what is forgotten

or in peril

or in pain.


That it has a fondness

for the body,

for finding its way

toward flesh,

for tracing the edges

of form,

for shining forth

through the eye,

the hand,

the heart.


I cannot tell you

how the light comes,

but that it does.

That it will.

That it works its way

into the deepest dark

that enfolds you,

though it may seem

long ages in coming

or arrive in a shape

you did not foresee.


And so

may we this day

turn ourselves toward it.

May we lift our faces

to let it find us.

May we bend our bodies

to follow the arc it makes.

May we open

and open more

and open still

to the blessed light

that comes.