on wintering

honoring devotion to darkness

Wintering.

Hibernation with being instead of doing.

Finding solace in rest and retreat, soundless beauty, and active acceptance of all that is hushed.

Immersing ourselves into the cold to share in its sharp edges, gloomy depths, and curative flow. Is this the medicine of winter?

As winter settles in, I notice a downward shift within me and around me. As the Earth outside is covered in a blanket of ice and snow, it feels like I’m being hushed to rest too, like someone’s turning the volume down and closing the door. A part of me welcomes the change of pace, and another part of me misses the long, warm days of more light.

From the book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May…

“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”

Prepare… Like the roots and seeds buried into the frozen soil. For it’s only in this contrast that they become.

Adapt… Like my bare bones meeting cold water, learning to stay with discomfort. The exposure feels raw and wildly uninhibited. Free. I breathe. I hold myself in radical acceptance for all the parts that want to escape it. Only in feeling the sharpness of the blade do I also feel my edge.

Withdraw… Like a special kind of sleep, I notice the dullness and a dream like state to access, with a doorway to a different kind of rest.

Metamorphosis… Like inside the cocoon. On days where the light of the sun meets the dark, I feel the contrast. And this I believe, is part of the transformation.

Life’s cycle… because when the conditions are right and the soil has softened, I’ll eagerly hold the Earth in my hands once again, and say thank you.

Thank you for all the gifts… For the hibernation. For finding the solace in rest and retreat. For soundless beauty. For active acceptance of all that is hushed. For the gloomy depths. For the sharp edges and curative flow of the cold water.

For all those nourishing their roots alongside me. For the medicine of winter passing through us like the weather, guiding us on. Thank you.

On winter… What gifts have you unearthed in this season? How are you wintering?