Hello, my friend.
And a most blessed winter solstice to you. Today, in the northern hemisphere, we are enveloped in the darkest, longest night of the entire year. There is less daylight during these 24 hours than any other day. We’re tilted as far away from the sun as we will be. And we find ourselves deep in the season of winter now.
This week, as the winter solstice approached, I found myself thinking about what we really celebrate when these solstices roll around - this one during midwinter and, then, the one at the height of summer in mid-June. What I realized is that I think we are always celebrating the light.
And, that makes sense, I suppose. But, something in me feels bad for the dark. Why are we always running from it? Isn’t the dark worth celebrating too?
I suppose, though, it’s in our nature to fear and avoid the dark. Danger + uncertainty lurk in the shadows and dark corners. For years, people stood watch in the dark. Waiting around campfires in order to keep their communities, homes, and animals safe. Longing for the sunrise, when everything seemingly becomes easier, lighter, more bearable.
Before much was known about the cosmos, our ancestors must have wondered every year at this time, after months of the darkness growing longer every single day… will the sun ever return? I imagine them longing for the light to return and longing even more for the bright light of the summer solstice. Because these dark winter days, when everything was bare and nothing grew, well, it must have felt like the end of everything.
Then, magically, the sunlight did begin to grow again ever so slowly. From the darkest days, the light quietly returned. And so monuments were built to capture + honor this sacred moment. Festivals, rituals, and traditions were created to brighten the dark days, as reminders of the cycle of nature, to mark the seasons, and to celebrate the turning of the wheel of the year. From the seeding season to the growing season to the harvest season to the dead, rooting season. Celebrating in the middle of the darkest month was a way to remember, mark, and celebrate the hope that was found even when it felt like all hope was lost.
I traveled to Ireland to visit a friend some years ago and found myself standing in the center of a great mound built 5 thousand years ago. Newgrange was built as a tomb, but also as a place to capture the sunrise on the winter solstice. On the solstice, and only on the solstice, the sun rises in the east, shines through a long, skinny tunnel, and light fills the dome in the center of the mound. It lasts only a couple of minutes and then, it’s over as the sun continues to rise in the sky. No light will reach the center of the tomb until the next winter solstice in a year. It is literally only a few magical, cosmic minutes.
I visited Newgrange on a random day in March, so the only thing I saw was total and complete darkness. But, I was still in awe. I still felt the magic, the power, the wonder. That people calculated, built, and then used this mound for rituals of life + death thousands of years ago overwhelmed me. I think it was then that I truly fell in love with the natural, cosmic wonder of it all. I think it was then that I began this journey of living in rhythm with the seasons. Suddenly, it brought a sense of meaning, a connection to nature + to people all across time, and feeling of wonder and gratitude right into the middle of my everyday life.
So, I propose that we learn to celebrate the longest night. Not only for the fact that after today, the days will begin to get longer again, the darkness shrinking every single day. But, to truly celebrate this day as part of the incredible cycle of nature. And to recognize that we need this season. We need the dark side of the moon, the shadow parts of our selves, and the quiet, bare winter season of resting and rooting. We literally cannot grow without the dark season.
On this winter solstice, more than anything, though, I think I am celebrating the magic of it all. Instead of only celebrating the return of the light in the middle of the dark, I remember that life is a rhythm. I lean into the cycles of life. I trust that this ethereal dark season has something to offer - rest, inspiration, wisdom.
At the summer solstice, we celebrate the height of the light. The long, bright days and short nights where the sun barely even sets where I live. At the winter solstice, we celebrate the return of the light, the end of the longest nights as the days grow longer. But, as I said before, we don’t really celebrate the longest night. Instead, we try to avoid it and focus on the coming light, the return of the sun to save us from the darkness.
I get that. I really do.
But, I want to stop for a moment and really become one with the season. I want to bask in the darkness at the winter solstice like I bask in the sunlight of the summer solstice. I want to honor the cycles and the seasons for what they are and be truly present.
So, even though I celebrate + recognize the turning of the wheel of the year today, the moving of the seasons, and the return of the light, I also settle down into the dark, cozy, unknown, wise, deeply restorative energy of the winter for the next few weeks. In other words, I’m just being present.
And I’m learning to truly celebrate the longest night.
xoxo. liz.