Wandering Through the Dark

I’m excited that the spring equinox is getting closer, although the time change has been tough for me to adjust to this week. Green leaves of daffodils, crocuses, and tulips are showing themselves in my garden, hinting at bright colors to come. It’s easy for me to write about flowers and beauty, but before that begins again, I want to take time to acknowledge the dark we’ve come through here in the Northern Hemisphere.  

This year's solstice wheel

Every year the seasons do their circle dance, and some parts are more welcome than others. I have learned, though, that even dark winter days have their own beauty and gifts. This is mainly thanks to a meditative practice led by Carolyn Cushing called Descent and Return of the Light, where we use Tarot cards and candles to explore and learn from the long nights surrounding the winter solstice. I did this e-retreat for the third time this year, and one of the helpful phrases that came to me was that I can “keep the darkness in my heart.” The December holidays can feel like mandated, simplistic happiness that grates on me if I’m not able to also hold space for sadness and complexity.  

Card image of The Moon from The Wild Unknown by Kim Krans

For a meditation prompt about who or what can be a guide through the dark, I pulled the moon card, which signifies directionless! I was frustrated by the idea at first, but as I thought about it, I came to a more mystical sense of trusting that I can wander without being “lost.” (Like in the famous Tolkien quote.) Soon after that, I was walking by the ocean on a dark night with no moon, noticing rich layers of darkness with the deep water, the new moon, and the midnight winter cold. Here’s a poem I wrote from that experience. 

December  

I release my ignorance 

into the ocean. The dark 

new moon eats my fear. 

Swimming in the womb 

of night I am not lost, 

only wandering. My guide 

does not guide. It is 

the darkness that leads me 

through the dark.