Welcome.
Long ago,
Before the festive season had a name,
There was a time of year the people called the Season of Shared Light.
It arrived quietly,
Just as the days grew short and the nights wrapped themselves around the world a little earlier each evening.
Fires were drawn closer together,
Doors stayed open longer,
Voices softened,
And people remembered something they often forgot during the busy months of living.
They remembered each other.
The elders said this season wasn't about the cold or the darkness at all.
It was about gathering,
About finding warmth,
Not just in hearths and candles,
But in laughter,
Joy,
Stories,
And the simple act of being together.
On the first night of this season,
Every home placed a light in the window.
Some used candles,
Some lanterns,
Some glowing embers in jars of glass.
And the light didn't have to be bright,
It only had to be offered.
Because the light was never meant to shine alone.
And as the evening deepened,
People stepped outside and they greeted their neighbors.
Their hands were warmed,
Smiles were shared,
Old disagreements softened like snow under morning sun.
Children ran between houses,
Carrying laughter like sparks through the air,
And something magical happened.
The lights began to glow a little brighter,
Not because the flames grew stronger,
But because they reflected one another.
Light meeting light,
Heart meeting heart.
It was said that on this night,
The light itself moved among the people,
Not as something distant or divine,
But as a quiet presence that lived wherever love was shared.
It lingered in kitchens where meals were cooked together,
It rested in rooms where stories were told and retold,
Growing warmer each time.
It sat beside those who felt lonely,
Reminding them they were still part of the circle.
And the people,
They noticed that joy returned easily during this season.
Not the loud kind,
But the gentle joy of connection,
Of belonging,
Of remembering that life at its heart was meant to be shared.
Each night,
The lights stayed lit a little longer,
And the songs drifted through the streets.
Even the stars seemed closer,
As if listening.
And when morning came,
People carried that warmth with them,
Not as something to hold tightly,
But as something to give freely.
The elders taught the children this.
Light grows when it is shared.
Love deepens when it is offered.
And the happiest times are made,
Not found.
When the season finally passed and the days began to lengthen again,
The lights were gently taken down,
But never forgotten.
Because the true light didn't belong to candles or lanterns,
It lived in the way people reached for one another,
In the way they gathered,
In the way they remembered that even in the darkest times,
Joy could be created together.
And so,
Each year when the festive season returns,
The people still light their homes,
Not to chase away the dark,
But to welcome one another in.
Namaste,
My friend.
