Winter Solstice 2013

I had big plans for starting a new tradition this Winter Solstice. The kids and I had pallets and regular wood and firestarters and some sort of salt stuff that makes the fire burn different colors. We were going to make a big bonfire with friends on the snowy, icy beach and turn loose those paper lanterns after we lit them to float off into the sky. It was going to be beautiful.

Icy rain fell all that afternoon and by evening time I knew there was no way with my leg and cane I would be able to safely maneuver about on the rocky beach. I knew the kids would be miserable and that there was no sense in trying to make a family tradition they would despise. It was so frustrating!

But then I went online. One of my high school friends had posted that her parents had been in an accident and was asking people to pray. Her Mom happened to be someone I considered a friend and was dear to my heart. It was a shock to hear but... my mind at that time would not even consider the possibility that anything could go horribly wrong. It just couldn't.

A few hours later my friend posted again. Her mother, this dear, sweet woman, had died.

How can I write about something that really has not even processed in my own mind? Logically I know she is no longer with us, but it still seems too horrible to be true.

This Solstice has been one of sadness, of cold. As I was pondering and feeling this, I read Starhawk's blog post about her frustrations and the coldness of this winter solstice. Her final words in this post grabbed me:

Yet I need this year’s cleansing.  I need the great elemental forces to wash through me and carry away some of this grief and renew my faith in life’s resilience.

So tonight I embrace the cold.  Call it in—cold is what we need, to cool the overheated earth, to bring back the rains.  I offer up the fire, to the snowy plover, to all the endangered species, to everything and everyone whose simple birthrights are stolen.

Let this be the Solstice magic.  Tides turn.  Miracles happen.

Out of darkness, light is born.

I am in agreement. I need the symbolism that day was to bring. The releasing of the hurts of the year; the turning from the longest night toward more light. So cold it is. While fire is comforting and there is something lovely about gathering around it with loved ones, cold grabs one by the throat. There is nothing gentle about cold. But there is still a cleansing feeling in the cold.

I went out on my porch without my coat or hat and let the cold engulf me. Breathing it in and feeling it seep through my clothes, startle my skin. I do not have to be religious to be spiritual and it was the spiritual moment I had been hoping to bring about with the comfort of the fire. I cried for the loss of this lovely woman and the hurts of the past year, the fears and uncertainty in my future. But I also felt a deep sense of joy and peace in the ability of humanity to adapt and improvise.