It’s winter solstice, one of the holiest days of the year. Scrub out the debris from your inbox, your closet, your spirit, your mind. Make an intention and align it with this evening’s new moon in make-it-happen Capricorn. Invite Uranus’ blue bolts of lightening into those plans; smile broadly at the unexpected. Tap the power of Venus, newly reborn in the sky after regenerating her values. Bask in the embrace of dear Mama Mary. Open your heart to receive grace (prosperity, beauty, big-scale love). Bring gratitude, generosity, and faith to your daily practice, whatever that may be. Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Joyously. Here’s to more light in our countries, our cities, our hearths, our hearts.
This time of year there is so little natural light that many wake hours before the sun and work hours after it descends. But we living creatures can adjust to anything, even find solace in it. The intimacy, the privacy granted by these dark hours in early morning: it’s time for settling back into pillows with quieter projects, hot drinks steaming cold rooms, small lights casting out still-prevailing nights. Well. Such time is to be cherished once we adjust to its protocol. We grasp why this is the holiest time of year, why we make festivals for these lights. With their help, into the mystic we sail–for a few hours at a time, at least.
I always forget this time of year is so inhospitable–in its quality and duration of light, in the dread it evokes that is only occasionally contained, in the anxieties masquerading as shared joy. Now that climate change is writ large, we contend with cold rain rather than pretty snow, to boot. Not to mention those tides of change finally, finally rising in Ameriker. Sexton said, “I know that I have died before–once in November.” Amend that to December, please, and pass me an umbrella. Rebirth is very messy.