The gifts of darkness: some are easier to unwrap than others
Oh, the holidays. They can mean such different things to different people. Whether you are eager with anticipation or bracing for a range of emotions, let me remind myself and you that this is what Solstice is all about. It’s about embracing the range, from joy to yuck. Don’t believe the lie that there are people who always soar above the yuck. That’s false advertising about being human.
Winter Solstice stands as a galactic reminder that darkness is. It just is. Not good or bad, right or wrong, it’s darkness. On good days, I can revel in it—the mystery, the not knowing, the gifts of gentle darkness, without glaring lights. On not so good days? That darkness seems long and empty and foreboding.
Let’s just live it, though, whatever it is. If you’re frantically busy, then go for it. Hold onto your head and heart, tuck in, and join the fray. If you’re bored, then be bored. Be bored until you are so bored of being bored that you step out and do something different.
Wherever these short days and long nights find you, my Solstice wish for you is that you come to know yourself better. And that you bring that marvelous, messy, beauty of your being further out into the world.
Begin now, in the quiet darkness. Ask yourself, “Who am I?” “What am I made of?” “What will I stand for?” Commit to being gentle with whatever parts of you feel small. Dare yourself to be a little more vulnerable. Remind yourself with every step that the other great lie is that vulnerability is weakness, when the truth is the opposite.
This. This is the stuff of being Wild. Trust your darkness as well as your light. There is wisdom in both.
May the long nights of Solstice find you at peace with what is. May you look up to a star-filled sky and smile in recognition.
