Winter Solstice 2018 where dark and light embraced under a full moon. photo by anne richardson
Gifts Amid the Darkness
There are stretches on my pre-dawn walk where I turn off my flashlight and stand still. Look up through a clearing. Allow the dark to cradle me. Ambient light on the far periphery (it is never totally at bay in the city.) I can pretend the trees along the path are more forest than park. As my eyes adjust, bare-limbed maples and needle-full Douglas firs texture the darkness. An owl’s call fills the air and I breathe that wondering “who who” question into my body. Even when rain is soaking Earth and the steady drops from merged clouds douse me, these winter walks are gift.
This year’s solstice morning walk was a special gift as the rain paused…a wee pause. Dark clouds cruising along a wind-infused express lane against blue-black sky thinned, and stars appeared, disappeared, appeared again in the gaps. Magnificent. The evening would be full of downpour and fury. No hope of seeing the Saturn and Jupiter conjunction in the Pacific Northwest where I live. But I received my gift early. Grateful.
Shifting Seasons of the Heart
Late autumn/early winter has become my heart season as I age. It wasn’t always this way…my appreciation for these long-nights. As a child the bumpbumpbump of walnuts tumbling down the aging roof of our farmhouse caused more concern than wonder on storm-laden nights. Cold penetrated the single-pane windows and minimally-insulated walls of our home. The filled-with-boiling-water bottle only kept my feet warm for an hour or two before turning tepid then cold. To rouse myself from the puddle of warmth in my bed to take those first morning steps from the upstairs bedroom down the creaking stairs to the warming kitchen was my definition of courage. I’m sure I did my fair share of whining.
With my mum and brother. The old farmhouse. Christmas 1964. Dayton, Oregon.
Those long winter nights, I used a flashlight to read under the covers before sleep fell into my antsy body. Did a fair bit of imagining in the wee hours. (What was the bumping? Monsters were shadows the full moon displayed through my curtains onto the walls! That howl in the distance was coming for me!) Wishing for spring to hurry. Winter all damp and wet and lasting far longer than three months in my child’s mind…and yet it did pass.
A lamp at The Summit, the high point of my morning walk. I wish I could have dark to view the winter dawnings. Instead, there is always manufactured light. photo by anne richardson.
Room to Rest In our Light Infused World?
I wonder if, with the wonders of technology, starting with the discovery of how to channel electricity into lightbulbs, modern society has moved away from a healthy appreciation of the dark season as a reminder that this a time to slow down. Take stock. Reflect. Listen to natural rhythms. Have we lost something along the way? Yes, I do like being able to see a darkened street at night when I’m driving or walking. And to have portable lighting at the scene of an accident or all the wonders of luminescence to save a life in an operating room. So yes to technology! But there seems little space for rest from light. Deciding when it is necessary. (Do I really need to check emails or Instagram after 6, 7, 8pm? To have the computer or phone infused light brightening my face?) There are fewer and fewer places to escape articial and ambient light these days. It is called “light pollution” for a reason.
Complexity of Dark & Light
We begin our lives in the darkness of the womb. Some of our early ancestors lived in caves. Many plants begin life as seeds germinating in soil, away from the light. The depths of the ocean—dark. As we discover more about fungi, their intricate underground network is essential to a healthy forest environment. So much of what is vital to this planet occurs in the dark. And yet, somehow, somewhere “darkness” became a negative. “Let’s shed light on that,” we say, is if that will be the cure. It has become an either/or (dark: “bad,” light: “good.“) Loses all complexity when it isn’t both/and. Like so many of our unexplored beliefs.
Dark and light, black and white. They compliment each other, whether that be in the realm of art (consider black and white photography,) in nature (the rhythms of life,) as metaphor (writing through the ages,) in mythology (Myth of Inanna and her sister Ereshkigal,) psychology (“shadow” work,) and more. How we came to pit the gifts found in both dark and light as adversaries with “light” needing to conquer “dark,” well, I haven’t researched it, but perhaps religion had a say (I claim this one having a religious education that I have been unpacking for years now.)
“You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! -
powers and people-
and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.
I have faith in nights.”
Or perhaps because we have to slow down, we feel powerless in the dark, and that feels uncomfortable. Out of control. Easier to blame the element than our own discomfort. How many of you, when asked if you could have a superpower, would want to see in the dark?
And what of shadows. John O’Donohue says in his book, Beauty, Rediscovering the True Sources of Compassion, Serenity, and Hope, “Indeed the shadow is the child of the threshold where black and white converge. There could be no shadow without light.” To acknowledge our shadows, both individually and collectively, is to cross thresholds. And thresholds leave us changed. No wonder there is resistance to dancing in the between space of dark and light. I am in the midst of this course, Principles of Collective Trauma Healing. So much shadow work there alongside work I have done through my year long course, This Mythic Life, with Dr. Sharon Blackie. I am processing and listening and pondering a lot, so it is not time to plop anything into a blog post…yet.
Allowing Grief to lament in the light after sitting in the dark. photo by anne richardson.
My Mentor Grief’s Thoughts
Ah, Grief, my mentor, is tapping me on the shoulder, wanting to add a few words. (Okay, in all honesty, Grief really writes these posts.) Reminding me the color black is associated with Grief in mainly Western cultures. A representation of that need to go into a deep place to mourn loss. To reflect on what is no longer physically present. And yet, as my recent laments workshop reflected, Grief also needs light, to wail, to be seen and heard. Both/and again.
Keep Resting in the Dark a While Longer
This has been a dark year for many. The pandemic. Social unrest. Lost lives. Lost livelihoods. Lost relationships. Loss after loss after loss. Ugh, relish this “dark” season, anne? Really? Rest? Shelter in a while longer? Haven’t we been doing that since at least March! Lean into it? I know, it is a lot to ask. So, only if it feels appropriate for you. There is gift waiting. There is solace. There is nurture. There is opportunity to erupt into spring renewed.
If you are in the Northern Hemisphere, we are now tipping toward more light, even if that progress will seem slow. As much as I adore these dark days, I too know I cannot dwell in them all year round. I do a lot of deep inner work around my “shadow” and that of my ancestors. Those darker places within that reflect the both/and of me and my familial history. The messy stuff that needs to be brought up into the light. Yes, dark is complex and so is light. After deep exploration I need to come up for air. To re-accustom my eyes to daylight. To turn toward spring and see new growth.
“When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone,
no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your home
tonight.
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.”
My mum at the orchard with the daffodils. Winter is a remembrance season for me. Both my parents died in winter. I choose to honor the dark days by holding my parents close.
Need Rest to Bloom
Daffodils are hands down my favorite flower. Right now, they are dormant in the fecund soil along the roadsides and in the gardens of my neighborhood. In another month, small tips of first leaves will pierce the soil. It will be at least three more months before they blossom. And yet, they always return after their time in the dark. They needed that time of rest. To re-energize. To prepare to bloom. We all do.
Deep And Ongoing Gratitude
I am continuing to cocoon as 2020 edges to a close and 2021 awakens. I have no new workshops scheduled, though last time I said that, I was “nudged” to offer my lamentations workshop in mid-December. I was truly blessed. While I haven’t been “nudged,” perhaps I’m sensing a tickle of an idea…we will see. Please keep following along to find out.
AND I am deeply grateful for all that has unfolded this year. It has invited me to dig deeper into my own fecund soil. I am grateful for those of you who read my posts and have witnessed the unfolding…and special thanks when you share your thoughts.
May you be kind and gentle to yourself and those you encounter on your journey.
in deep gratitude,
anne
ps-those who live with thoughts of self-harm may feel enclosed in a cloak of constant darkness. If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). You can find a list of additional resources at SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources.
For Your Reflection
What have you been taught about “dark” and “light.” The invitation is to reflect on your beliefs and see if they make sense to you as an adult. If not, what has changed?
When you were young, how did you interact with the dark? Close your eyes and try to connect with your body. Are any memories stirring? What feelings are coming up? If they are overwhelming, please take care of yourself! You don’t need to engage this way.
Have you ever been caving? (I’ve been to a couple of caves and thought it was marvelous!) If you have, what was the experience like? If not, are you curious to explore what that might be like? Check out Paul Tran’s poem “The Cave,” which explores the archetype of the cave. How might that be relevant to your life at this time?
Find some black and white photos. What do you notice about the texture? The light? The shadows? The ambience? Take a photo on your phone and using a photo app, change it to black and white and see how your “interpretation” shifts.
For some folx, the long dark nights winter are a difficult time. If this is you, how are you caring for yourself by extending gentleness and kindness?
If you are in the Northern Hemisphere, watch for signs of spring over the next three months. What emotions stir when winter still seems ever present, but you catch a glimpse of spring?
The standard question: What are old ways of coping that are still working for you? Try not to judge them as “good or bad.” Just notice how they help you through the day. What is no longer working? And, have you found any new ways of coping? As always, please be gentle and kind as you reflect.
Let Me Join You On Your Journey
What questions are you ready to explore? Ready to go into the dark with your Grief? Need a guide during this Wintering time? Contact me and let’s talk about how having a spiritual companion can be part of your journey. Further information about what a spiritual director/companion is on my webpage.
