Winter Solstice: A Paean To The Pregnant Darkness

by Judith Rich on December 20, 2011

Sol­stice = Standing-Still-Sun

Dec. 21st, we enter the belly of the night.

Win­ter Sol­stice: We come to the por­tal that sep­a­rates dark­ness from light. Stand­ing in this arch of time where Earth takes a breath before fac­ing us back towards the sun, we too, take a breath, turn inward, pause in this moment of full­ness and let dark­ness reveal its gifts.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A time to look back at the year gone by, gather its lessons and put them in the stew of your life. Time to let the heat of your pres­ence cook the stew. Ren­der the lessons into the sweet nec­tar of wis­dom. Then drink of it. One-small-sip-at-a-time.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A time to let the longest night of the year seduce you into still­ness. Time to silence inner voices, lis­ten to the beat­ing of your own heart. Time to breathe slowly, become the breath. Linger here. The night is long.

Win­ter Sol­stice: Time to savor the sweet­ness of the dark. Noth­ing to fear. It’s only you. And mil­lions of years of Earth’s turn­ing; away and then back, away and then back towards the light. It’s all you. The dark, the light, the fire, the night: it’s all you. You’re all it. Sweet one­ness, savored in the dark.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A sacred link, where Earth’s veil thins, the unseen, seen. Images of ances­tors and ancient roots thread­ing back beyond time. Back to first humans, their fires still burn­ing to call back the light. We are the ones who hold them sacred. We honor their strug­gles, their tri­umphs. We’re here due to them. They gave us our blood.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A time to reflect on your life in this moment. Like never before, or ever again, reflect on this sweet, frag­ile moment.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A time to let go of what bur­dens. Empty out stones sit­ting heavy in the heart. Let bygones be bygones. Acknowl­edge. For­give. Begin again.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A fer­tile time, a time to ready the womb; a time for preg­nant pos­si­bil­ity. A time to sow seeds of imag­i­na­tion that ger­mi­nate in the dark­ness. A time to tend the inner hearth; be warmed by the coals of creativity.

Win­ter Sol­stice: The union of oppo­sites. Full­ness: emp­ty­ing. Empti­ness: fill­ing. 
The short­est day meets the longest night. Cel­e­brate the dark. Greet the light. We’ve jour­neyed long; we’ve jour­neyed far. In sum­mer, we rejoiced in the sun, now absent. In win­ter, we set­tle into the night, now present. We draw inward, tuck in our wings to keep warm. All flights are canceled.

Win­ter Sol­stice: A time to check inner weather and road con­di­tions. Are you cold? Are you hot? Are you merely luke­warm? Is it stormy? Is it balmy? Are there blue skies inside? Does the road rise to meet you? Are you on shaky ground? Is it smooth? Is it rocky? Can you see where you are?

Win­ter Sol­stice: Can you be with it all, just as it is? No fight­ing, no try­ing, no push­ing the river. It flows by itself, so you watch it. You notice. You see twigs and branches sub­merged in the stream of your life. With­out effort, the water flows over, under and around it all. Noth­ing can stop it; it goes on for­ever. Like you do. Like I do. Like we do.

May you go on for­ever, like this most preg­nant night of the year.

A brief rit­ual to include in your obser­vance of Win­ter Solstice:

1) Set aside at least 30 min­utes, prefer­ably longer, but what­ever works for you is fine.


2) Include friends, fam­ily mem­bers, or cel­e­brate alone if you prefer.


3) Turn off all the lights. Set­tle in to the darkness.


4) Spend time with your eyes closed, breath­ing slowly, watch­ing the breath.


5) Let your aware­ness set­tle down in your belly. Feel it fill and empty. See your 
life com­ing and going on each inhale and exhale. Feel the strength and fragility of each 
breath.


6) There’s noth­ing to do but let go into the dark, allow it to hold you. Feel its safety. Thoughts arise and fall. Just watch them come and go. Return to the breath.


7) Remain in silence for sev­eral min­utes after you’ve fin­ished. Savor the moment.

The Bless­ing of the new­born Sun God:


Out of Dark­ness Light is Re-born. Carry the hope of this moment like a torch in your heart through the com­ing year. Let it sus­tain you in your times of dark­ness, and be a sym­bol of bless­ing in your times of joy. Let Peace be with you.

Wish­ing you and yours a Happy Sol­stice! May you find peace in the night.

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