So I have been a bit remiss in updating the blog this month, and I apologize for that. I'm not exactly sure what happened to most of December. I mean, I kinda know - I held an open house at my home studio, I was in California for nearly a week, visiting the Bay Area and performing/teaching at Tribal Fusion Faire, I worked on the Waking Persephone website. I designed jewelry and dealt with corporate America. So obviously I was doing stuff. I think. I have no holiday decorations up at my house, and it's a little late to start, as I'm leaving tomorrow to see my family in NJ. But I didn't want to let the month run away without marking down some thoughts.
Last night was the longest night of the whole year - marking the Winter Solstice (in my hemisphere). For me, the equinoxes and the solstices are the most important days out of the year, alongside May 1st and October 31st. I am fascinated by the balance of light and dark, day and night, the pattern of things. And being an optimist (generally), I am very much inspired by the Winter Solstice - the promise that there will be a little more light, each day, from now until the Summer Solstice. (For the inverse reasons, I am somewhat depressed by the Summer Solstice, cause it's all downhill from there...so I guess I am a Winter Optimist and a Summer Pessimist).
When I think of the dark though, I don't think of it as cold and desolate. Instead, I think about hibernation, incubation, things waiting, holding, slumbering, preparing. There are whispers in dark warm corners about the promise of Spring - what can take root, what can bloom, what can inspire and grow. In one hand, we are remembering the harvests of the past year - what worked, what didn't work, what we reaped and sowed. In the other, we are consider the changes for the next year - what will we bring into our lives for the coming year. What will be new? What will be different? How can we take that inspiration to the next level? What experiences will we have?
The Winter Solstice is like sitting in a movie theater, waiting for the show to start. Anything could happen. The thing is, we're in control about what show is about to start. If we expect someone else to start the show for us, it'll never happen. You're the star of your own show, whether you think you're ready for it or not. And there's nothing like that moment - on the stage, in the dark, before the lights come up and the curtains open. Embrace this moment in the dark, hold it close, and see what sparks emerge. Take a deep warm breath and give life to that light.
Blessed Be.
Thank you for putting this into words so beautifully. I, too, love the shifting balance of the seasons and that interplay between dark and light. I wholeheartedly agree with you about the dark of Winter - it is a wonderful time of reflection and incubation, waiting for new growth to burst forth in Spring. (And, as a southern hemisphere dweller, right now I also really empathise with your comments on the Summer Solstice!) Thank you for all your musings and insights. I treasure your blog :-)
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