The Longest Night, The Brightest Light.

I’ve always found it auspicious when universal moments collide, when timing feels intentional rather than coincidental.

Tonight is one of those moments.

It’s the winter solstice, the longest night of the year.
And it’s also the final night of Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights.

There’s something profoundly fitting about this pairing, especially when it comes to grief. On the night when darkness lingers the longest, we respond by lighting every candle in the menorah. We don’t wait for the light to arrive. We create it.

Early in my grief journey, I couldn’t see the power in that. I felt consumed by my loss, like a victim to something I had no control over. I let the darkness envelop me, believing there was nothing I could do but endure it. It took years before I even realized that grief was something I could work with, not just survive.

Because grief never really goes away. Just as night follows day and day follows night, loss becomes part of the rhythm of living.

And what is darkness, really?
It isn’t a force of its own. It’s simply the absence of light.

When we walk into an unlit room, we don’t “turn on” darkness, we flip on a light switch. And when we leave, we turn the light off. The darkness doesn’t need activating.

Over time, I began to understand that I have the same power in my own life: the ability to create the light I need to find my way forward.

For me, that light comes from focusing on what is still here, the goodness that remains. My family. My friends. My community. My home. Food. Water. The ability to serve. My generosity. My open heart. My vulnerability. My strength.

And even within that goodness, I include what I’ve lost: my sister, my grandparents, my uncle. I include former versions of myself, my insecurities, old stories, childhood wounds, challenges, and struggles. I’ve learned to be grateful for the darkness too, because moving through it shaped me into who I am today.

And I’m proud of that person.

Wherever you are on your grief journey, remember this: shining brighter takes effort. At first, your light may be faint, just enough to illuminate a small, dark corner. But with practice, you begin to add one candle at a time.

And eventually, that light doesn’t just help you see your way forward.
It illuminates the world.

Go with power,
Jason

Try this Simple Practice:

Candle Meditation

This is a practice of taking external light and bringing it inward; from the world, into the mind, and finally into the heart.

1. Light the candle.
Sit comfortably, breathe deeply and place a lit candle at eye level, about an arm’s length away. Let this be the only thing you focus on for the next few minutes.

2. Gaze softly at the flame.
Keep your eyes open and gently rest your gaze on the flame. You’re not staring or forcing, just witnessing. Notice the way it moves, the color, the steadiness beneath the flicker. If your mind wanders, simply return to the flame and your breath.

3. Bring the light into your vision.
After a minute or two, allow the flame to fully fill your awareness. Let the light imprint itself, no effort, no strain.

4. Close your eyes and hold the light in your mind.
Gently close your eyes. You may see an afterimage of the flame, or you may simply sense it. Either is perfect. Imagine the light glowing softly behind your eyes, steady and calm.

5. Guide the light into your heart.
With your next few breaths, imagine the light slowly traveling downward, from your mind, through your throat, and into the center of your chest. Let it rest there. Let it warm you from the inside.

6. Sit with the light.
Stay here for a few breaths. You’re not trying to fix anything. You’re simply allowing the light you witnessed outside yourself to live within you.

7. Close with intention.
Silently say to yourself:
“All the light I need is already within me, right now.”

When you’re ready, gently open your eyes.