In the depth of winter
I finally learned
That deep within me
There lay an invincible summer.
— Albert Camus
It is December 21st as I write. Not quite 4pm, but the western sky is already touched with a rosie bronze brush stroke and, within the hour, darkness will fall signalling the longest night.
My body and soul are no longer in dispute with this beautiful, soft, quiet element. Call it a time of life — I am well into my third act although not going for the final bow just yet. Call it an awakening — I have done the work, although there is so much more of the onion to peel. Perhaps it is the rising consciousness of the planet. Whatever the reason, I am welcoming the season.
I am allowing the darkness, the yin, the peace and release to hold me without arguing that there is too much to do, to buy, to send, or to add to a worry list. I have received Earth’s message loud and clear: stop your ‘doing’ and learn to ‘be’. Drop into the void and trust.
This is huge for me. My kids gave me a wall plaque many years ago that warned:
YOU CAN DO ANYTHING BUT NOT EVERYTHING
And guess what! I actually wrapped it up with a Christmas bow and gave it away to a friend this year. She needed it much more than I did. It hit me then, that I had truly eclipsed my endless ‘doing’.
I am leaving shortly for a solstice celebration where we will, one by one, carry a candle winding step by step up the labyrinth in a spiral to set it down with a blessing for the year, or for the special one whom you wish to honour. We will sing together to welcome the returning sun while celebrating the blessed darkness —
Light is returning even though this is the darkest hour
No one can hold back the dawn
Let’s keep it burning let's keep the flame of the hope alive
Make safe our journey through the storm
One planet is turning circle on her path around the sun
Earth mother is calling her children home
It will be a healing balm for the body and soul.
Many of us struggle with the lack of sunlight through the long winter. That was never an issue for me. I simply ignored it and kept going. That is until I saw the light. (Pun intended)
If that is an issue for you, I suggest you tune in to the podcast that I am attaching. It is a radio interview with Kira, my daughter. I found it to be full of wise advice and some new information.
My lovely friend and mentor, as the recipient of the plaque, may I once again thank you for always and ever gently sharing your wisdom and guidance. I, too, barely notice the absence or dimming of the light; but true too, the absolutely gorgeous, sunny and sparkly days of winter stand out so gloriously that I can’t help but notice them!
ReplyDeleteI hope that I can sit still enough to absorb deeply the thoughts you share so introspectively in your essay. Theoretically, I love the thought of joining in a solstice celebration, of staring dreamily at the slow but brief setting of the sun, of considering the layers of the onion lying prone and scattered, already peeled, those in mid-peel, and those still wrapped tightly around the core. I am envious of your calm perspective as I whirl about in either thought or action, with little to point at as finished or complete. But mostly it is your conviction of truth that you have shared so honestly, that I aspire to exude as profoundly and integrally as you do.
In the coming New Year, I wish for you much dancing and joy on dark, starry nights and many walks along forest paths where the sunshine bounces through the leaves so that stars may dance at your feet.
Abrazos