Winter Solstice
For my family, the Winter Solstice is a high holiday. Since my son is developing rituals and routines, we are actively shaping our traditions and ways to mark time. I spent the first 20 years of my life as a devout Christian. A fracture happened, and I spent the next 20 years rigorously studying Eastern philosophy and dabbling in Daoist cultivation practices. Mostly, if I’m being honest, I used my brain to mask the embodied fear and shame from the faith of my childhood. With the birth of my son and the immense responsibility I feel to steward critical curiosity and astounding wonder in this child, I’m resting more on my felt wisdom rather than my well-studied knowledge.
Probably because very young children have a much slower pace than me, I’ve spent the past two years listening to the natural world more than telling it what I know. I’m watching my son listen to the song of the seasons, watch the ways of the trees as they winter, and taste the flavor of life in the soil. I was already in love with this planet and how it stays true to its rhythms, but experiencing it through my son's eyes has made me a true believer.
I remember reading somewhere how devout religious people often lost sight of their God through opulent and complex practices and prayers—racing to be the first to read the best translation of text or the most pristine artifacts, forgetting that it isn’t the creations of man that bring us closer to the divine. Last week, I caught myself with eleven open browser tabs, all with different solstice rituals and traditions. I admit I got a little caught up in the performance. My son helps me to see that nature doesn't want praise; it wants relationship. It wants reciprocity. And so, without planning a specific celebration for this Winter Solstice, I will commit to being present to nature. It is through our thoughtful paying attention that we create a strong relationship. That’s what I aim to show my son, at least.
So, in that vein, here are some recommendations to create a deeper relationship with Winter this Solstice:
A day, an hour, a minute with no devices
Turn off the lights.
Go outside in the weather and see if you can hear the song of Winter.
Walk around your neighborhood and make eye contact with trees, clouds, grasses, and stones. Introduce yourself and see if you hear an introduction back.
Sleep. Outside.
Make a (biodegradable) offering full of all your joys and sorrows. With your whispers, blow into it your heart’s truth. Leave it in a special place that has been asking for you to come sit.
Go now, into the dark winter night. Rest. Renew. Cultivate your inner voice. The light will return in good time.