Welcoming the Darkness of Winter

It is almost Winter Solstice, the time of year when the darkness holds us in an embrace even as the light slowly returns. As we eagerly wait for spring then summer, the darkness has an invitation for us: come rest, slow down, see differently. It is hard to see where you are going in the dark so you need to walk slowly, you need to be present not off in a future that has not materialized, you need to let your eyes adjust to this new way of seeing.

I used to be afraid of the dark, always wanting a light on for sleeping. I hated how winter brought darkness into the day leaving less and less light. I used to focus on light at Christmas, lights decorating the trees and houses, the message of the Christian tradition in the birth story of Jesus where the light is born into the world to rescue us from darkness. So many stories that I held for so long. Over the past six years I have let go of many of the stories around light and darkness recognizing that it isn’t about binaries of good or bad, scary or safe, I can see or I can’t see. As I allow myself to sink into winter, the importance of darkness and light are clear, that both hold gifts and both are needed in our world.

The darkness of winter is a call inward, to be wandering in your own inner landscape, reflecting on what has been and what longings your soul is whispering to you, those longings ready to come.

When my Mom was in hospice five Christmases ago, I had heard the poem “The Winter of Listening” by David Whyte and found this excerpt really spoke to me:

“And the slow

difficulty

of remembering

how everything

is born from

an opposite

and miraculous

otherness.

Silence and winter

has led me to that

otherness.

So let this winter

of listening

be enough

for the new life

I must call my own.”

That year I felt the call of winter. I was called into presence, listening, and reflection. As my mom was walking the journey of her physical being dying, I was walking into the dark unknown of what my life would be when she was gone. This was a moment, as David Whyte said, “of remembering how everything is born from an opposite and miraculous otherness.”

Since this first journey, each year, I venture deeper into the winter darkness. I began to notice what pulled me out of the quiet reflecting the darkness offered. I also noticed what drew me in. I simplified my commitments over the holiday season, spent more time in wild-ish spaces where the hustle is muted. There have been morning wanders in the dark and time sitting in the dark in the evening. Times of quiet and silence, like walking in freshly falling snow where the world and my busy mind is hushed.

The encouragement to lean into the darkness has come from many places including Wendell Berry’s poem “To Know the Dark” which holds such wisdom:

“To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.”

Last Solstice I went to the river who I have a beautiful relationship with. I went early in the morning while the night and the darkness were still in full bloom. I brought with me an offering, a poem by Rilke, “You Darkness”’, what I was ready to release, and a candle. I gave my offering and the words of the poem to the dark then released what I no longer needed into the darkness. I sat. Listened. Cried. Offered gratitude. At the very end I placed the lit candle in its glass holder in the water. The light spilled out red like a circle of molten lava. The light was transformed in the reflection of the water, so visible only because of the embrace of the darkness.

My time in the embrace of the winter darkness is like this. I am present with gratitude and intention, I listen, release, and as I reflect I find the spark of understanding spilling out into the water, red like molten lava.

My invitation to you is to lean into the embrace of the darkness during these long nights of winter. Create your own ceremony to honour the gifts of the winter darkness as a way to honour Solstice and to step intentionally into your own wandering through your inner landscape.

Interested in travelling through the winter darkness with a companion? Book a free call with me to talk about what you need and what I can offer.