The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light.
Joseph Campbell
Winter sunrise, Sweden (from flickr) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year or, depending upon how you look at it, the longest night. After living for over a decade in the Yukon, I am still acutely aware of the lengthening and shortening of days. Today, the sun rises in Whitehorse (the capital of the Yukon) at 10:09 a.m. and sets at 3:47 p.m.; the day is 5.5 hours long plus some spare change. That doesn't seem too bad, except that when the sun rises around 10 it won't usually get above the mountains until 11 and is already behind the mountains by 3. So, actual daylight only lasts about four hours. Yukoners regard the winter solstice as one of the main winter holidays, along with Christmas and New Year.
You go to work or school in the dark and come home in the dark and only see daylight at lunchtime or on weekends, unless you're lucky enough to work from home or not work at all. Needless to say, all that darkness can be depressing, although the nights are more beautiful in the Yukon than in Vancouver: northern lights, stars, moon, and snow illuminate the darkness. Still, there's no getting around all that darkness. When I lived in the Yukon, I imagined that I could feel the darkness pressing at the backs of my eyes and it could be hard, at times, to force myself out into the dark and cold.
Many northern cultures celebrate the Winter Solstice. For people of European ancestry, the best known solstice celebration is Yule. At Yule, the Oak King and the Holly King do battle. At the Winter Solstice the Oak King wins and then the days lengthen again. At the Summer Solstice, the Holly King wins and the days begin to shorten again. Today, some people roll both of these figures into one who they call The Green Man. Both pagan figures are associated with greenery such as holly, ivy, and conifer branches.
The Winter Solstice - and the Summer Solstice - celebrate the natural cycles of darkness and light. I celebrate the return of the light not just because it is a beautiful natural phenomenon. For me, it is also a symbol of rebirth and healing. People who have survived trauma, or are recovering from grief, go through similar cycles of light and dark. First there is the darkness and then, as the impact of trauma and grief begins to lift, a person can feel themselves turning toward the light, as they heal. However, reminders of what we have lost can also throw us back into darkness. I have found that to be true in my own life. My doctor calls that having good days and bad days. She said that I'll probably always have bad days because my traumas happened at such an early age and were prolonged enough that complete "recovery" seems unlikely. So, when I have good days, I think of them as being filled with light. The solstices are potent metaphors for the periods of dark emotions and withdrawal that I experience that alternate with periods of happiness and calm. Ideally, these periods of "light" become longer and the periods of "darkness" become shorter, as healing progresses. However, anniversaries and other triggers can play havoc with this cycle and so when I'm going through a period of light, I celebrate it. Sometimes, I tell myself, Carpe diem. This time of year, however, I tell myself Carpe lucem - seize the light. Here's a great quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. to leave you with: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that." Carpe lucem and celebrate the return of the sun.
Do you experience good days and bad days? If so, how do you cope with these ups and downs?
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Winter Solstice - the return of the sun
The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light.
Joseph Campbell
Winter sunrise, Sweden (from flickr) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year or, depending upon how you look at it, the longest night. After living for over a decade in the Yukon, I am still acutely aware of the lengthening and shortening of days. Today, the sun rises in Whitehorse (the capital of the Yukon) at 10:09 a.m. and sets at 3:47 p.m.; the day is 5.5 hours long plus some spare change. That doesn't seem too bad, except that when the sun rises around 10 it won't usually get above the mountains until 11 and is already behind the mountains by 3. So, actual daylight only lasts about four hours. Yukoners regard the winter solstice as one of the main winter holidays, along with Christmas and New Year.
You go to work or school in the dark and come home in the dark and only see daylight at lunchtime or on weekends, unless you're lucky enough to work from home or not work at all. Needless to say, all that darkness can be depressing, although the nights are more beautiful in the Yukon than in Vancouver: northern lights, stars, moon, and snow illuminate the darkness. Still, there's no getting around all that darkness. When I lived in the Yukon, I imagined that I could feel the darkness pressing at the backs of my eyes and it could be hard, at times, to force myself out into the dark and cold.
Many northern cultures celebrate the Winter Solstice. For people of European ancestry, the best known solstice celebration is Yule. At Yule, the Oak King and the Holly King do battle. At the Winter Solstice the Oak King wins and then the days lengthen again. At the Summer Solstice, the Holly King wins and the days begin to shorten again. Today, some people roll both of these figures into one who they call The Green Man. Both pagan figures are associated with greenery such as holly, ivy, and conifer branches.
The Winter Solstice - and the Summer Solstice - celebrate the natural cycles of darkness and light. I celebrate the return of the light not just because it is a beautiful natural phenomenon. For me, it is also a symbol of rebirth and healing. People who have survived trauma, or are recovering from grief, go through similar cycles of light and dark. First there is the darkness and then, as the impact of trauma and grief begins to lift, a person can feel themselves turning toward the light, as they heal. However, reminders of what we have lost can also throw us back into darkness. I have found that to be true in my own life. My doctor calls that having good days and bad days. She said that I'll probably always have bad days because my traumas happened at such an early age and were prolonged enough that complete "recovery" seems unlikely. So, when I have good days, I think of them as being filled with light. The solstices are potent metaphors for the periods of dark emotions and withdrawal that I experience that alternate with periods of happiness and calm. Ideally, these periods of "light" become longer and the periods of "darkness" become shorter, as healing progresses. However, anniversaries and other triggers can play havoc with this cycle and so when I'm going through a period of light, I celebrate it. Sometimes, I tell myself, Carpe diem. This time of year, however, I tell myself Carpe lucem - seize the light. Here's a great quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. to leave you with: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that." Carpe lucem and celebrate the return of the sun.
Do you experience good days and bad days? If so, how do you cope with these ups and downs?
