Embracing the Darkness: Musings on Hope and Connection for the Winter Solstice

Apricity (n) the warmth of the sun in winter.

Two days ago, we celebrated the solstice—marking the shortest day of the year, and looking towards a time when the sun makes its grand return. I wanted to have this written and posted then, but I was too busy hustling and grinding. Exhausted to the bone. For right now, the cold dark has settled in deeply. My brain feels sluggish, almost frozen, much like the winter wonderland outside my window. As I sit here trying to write, I’m reminded of the many layers that accompany us in these dark days of winter.

To combat this winter weariness, I have my “happy light” blasting directly into my eyes, an illuminating glow that feels much needed. My animals hunker around me, staving off the frigid -10 degree day. One giant cat nestled on my lap and another pawing gently at my keyboard. I’m thankful for their warmth. Paddington, rests comfortably on my feet, glad that his morning hike was cut short in favor of staying cozy indoors.

As I daydream, my thoughts drift to old friendships and old lovers—those connections that can ignite our spirit and, at times, lead us into darkness. New beginnings, hot, steamy days filled with excitment. But with every ending, the cold can seep in, reminding us of the impermanence of our experiences. This too shall pass. New doors are waiting to open, leading us toward fresh connections and experiences. Navigating the intimacy that we hold with each other can be exhausting, and I ponder on the concept of holding things lightly in an open palm, embracing rather than clinging, recognizing that sometimes what we seek may not even exist in the form we envision.

My thoughts swirl like the vibrant movement of life all around me—the plants, animals, and Earth itself. I’m awed by the energy it takes to immerse ourselves in this cosmic dance, the molecules of our being, clinging to our own bones. All while sharing this rock, hurtling through space. We brush by one another, exchanging pieces of ourselves, drawn into each other’s gravitational pull—each fleeting encounter beautiful in its temporality. I think back to where I was this time last year—deep within a dark night of the soul. That too has passed. Here I stand now, with ashes falling from my hair and skin, resilient still.

Just as the winter season offers a time for introspection, we are called to engage with our shadows. Each of us carries a shadow, a collection of unprocessed feelings and experiences that can manifest as disruption, self-doubt, or fear. As we sit within this darkness, we can’t help but to explore our own shadow work—the parts of ourselves we often hide away, the emotions we bury, and the fears we avoid. This shadow work invites us to confront those hidden corners of our hearts and minds, shedding light on the aspects of ourselves that long to be acknowledged. Embracing our own darkness opens up a new realm of self-discovery and healing. In confronting our fears and insecurities, we create room for growth and transformation. It is through this inner journey that we can find balance. We learn that our shadows, while daunting, can lead to profound personal development and a deeper understanding of what it means to be human, and to be with others in that humanness.

As we move further into this winter season, may we embrace both the darkness AND the light within ourselves. As well as the light that lies ahead. Let us feed the fire that connects us with one another, and recognizing the warmth we can share—even on the coldest of days. In honoring our shadows, we empower ourselves to rise into the fullness of our being—ember by ember, finding light together in the heart of winter.

Last night, an owl

in the blue dark

tossed

an indeterminate number

of carefully shaped sounds into

the world, in which,

a quarter of a mile away, I happened

to be standing.

I couldn¹t tell

which one it was

the barred or the great-horned

ship of the air

it was that distant. But, anyway,

aren¹t there moments

that are better than knowing something,

and sweeter? Snow was falling,

so much like stars

filling the dark trees

that one could easily imagine

its reason for being was nothing more

than prettiness. I suppose

if this were someone else¹s story

they would have insisted on knowing

whatever is knowable ¬ would have hurried

over the fields

to name it. The owl, I mean.

But it¹s mine, this poem of the night,

and I just stood there, listening and holding out

my hands to the soft glitter

falling through the air. I love this world,

but not for its answers.

And I wish good luck to the owl,

whatever its name

and I wish great welcome to the snow,

whatever its severe and comfortless

and beautiful meaning.

~ Mary Oliver ~