This Thursday past, December 21, marked the winter solstice.

Ten years ago, I adopted the winter solstice as my holiday. The day I celebrate for myself. A day without the weight of “The Holidays” but with reverence for the season. Then as now, it speaks to me in a way Christmas never has; I feel how it connects me to the cosmos, nature, and our deep history as communal people. As in years past, the solstice found me observing the occasion with a combination of celebration and mourning all that this year gave and all it took.

In the absence of religion, for me the solstice is an anchor that grounds me in something beyond myself. It welcomes me, it includes me, it embraces me as a piece central to the whole while only asking me to pause, to observe, to honour. There are no demands, no judgements, no expectations.

Most years, I look to the solstice not only as the beginning of a new season and a new year, but for its light. With it comes brighter days as the sun hangs in the winter sky longer and higher each day as we begin to move toward spring and a hopeful, fresh new start.

However this year, thanks to a favourite broadcaster, I find myself considering the magic of the dark, the gift of hibernation, the richness found in shadow. After listening to Laurie’s solstice podcast, I’m not so quick to step into the light but am turning into the dark with a new found comfort. I’m not entirely sure what I might find but I’m grateful for the shift in perspective and keen to consider the gifts I have been overlooking all this time.

Along side her podcast, Laurie Brown posted a poem that resonates with me strongly.

Poem for the longest night of the year:

Smother me with insignificance
Drown my ego in inky black
Let the deep dark erase my outline in this world
Uncast my shadow into the black
And let me rest there.
-LB

— Laurie Brown (@lauriebrown) December 21, 2017

As we move into the light of this new sun, I’ll be mindful of the new shadows it casts and the rest I might find there.