The Dark Months

I berated myself for not writing a December blog… but I found I had absolutely nothing to say. Try as I might, words would not come forth and I knew from experience that forcing myself to write was counter-productive. As soon as I accepted this, I understood the reason why. Like the Earth herself, my energies had begun to spiral inward, a swirling vortex that led from the outer world of distraction to my inner world of sanctity and calm.

Taking this cue, in mid-December, I downed tools, switched off my laptop and phone and went into a state of semi-hibernation; resting, reading, knitting, walking but very much mentally switched-off. For three weeks I felt no desire whatsoever to be creative; I didn’t want to write, nor to plot and plan my new novel, which is very much my usual busy modus operandi. And it was bliss.

Once I’d given myself permission to relinquish the outer trappings of busyness and to content myself with the simple and humble daily rituals of just being, I began to shed my skin – metaphorically of course. The old skin of the year was quite worn but had served me well. It was a little baggy as I had stretched myself in all sorts of ways; it carried the remnant perfume of old habits that I had sloughed-off; it was slightly tinged by the fear of ill health and over-work and it was ready to be cast into the mid-winter fires, and there be alchemised to ash.

During these few weeks I felt a deep kinship with the Earth herself who at this time is unfettered by the trappings of summer and all its gay abandon, with no cloak of green, no mantle of blossom for adornment; I too felt blank and empty, yet also open and ready to receive. Oddly, I felt dark and richly alive in my state of torpor. And I really needed this slowing down. I’d not had time to fully digest all that had happened since the dark months of last year; all the growing and transforming, all the blossoming and setting of new seeds, all the accomplishments and dreams come true, all the sadness. It seems my soulful self assimilates at a different pace to my corporeal self; it refuses to align to a nine to five existence, and so epiphany and revelation come in their own sweet time – the sweet time of the dark months where daylight does not deflect us with her glories and nightlight absorbs us into the mystery. Ah… what bliss the winter is.

And now, three weeks later, I can feel my own green shoots emerging, just like those of the snowdrops in the soil; not quite fully formed, a little tender but vigorous nonetheless. The snowdrop’s green shoots are orientated towards the light and so are mine – the radiance of new writing projects, the allure of adventures in dreamweaving, the fireside ritual and ceremony of soul time. I feel more orientated towards the light this year than ever before, as if all these solar flares that are bathing the Earth right now have awoken something deep within me. As the Earth starts to slowly awaken, so do I. My hibernation was blessed, as is this new energy that is gathering pace. Where will my river of dreams flow this year – and in the dark months of next year, what will my reflections be?