Winter is Coming

Winter — so many of us wish it wasn’t coming. We anticipate cold and dark and that feeling of the endlessness of both. Will we ever emerge? Of course, we will but we’ve got a long string of weeks ahead. This winter, we are again facing the potential of lock downs and restrictions, disease and death. Extremely bleak and tiring stuff.

Just days ago, the virus reared its head and, once again threw us a scary twist which we have named Omicron (after the 15th letter in the Greek Alphabet even though it is the 7th variant.) If you are curious, the 7th letter is ETA. All this really tells us is that our naming system isn’t much of a system which makes a certain sense since we don’t have much (or any) worldwide system for eradicating the virus. Health and politics aside… this winter is bound to bring worry and, even despair as we slog on through.

What to do? For those of us who are lucky enough to have a stable and safe environment, it really becomes a matter of how we choose to face this next season. We’ve learned the term Hygge. We know there are people all across the Northern climes who know how to hunker down, how to soothe and glow and curl up and in. So that’s a way.

There’s the idea of Wintering which is drawn from Katherine May’s lovely book. For May, wintering describes her passage through emotional darkness, no matter the season. Still, the book mostly dwells in the experience of the cold. Winter (as with any difficult time/season) can be clarifying and May relishes this awakening. As May begins to swim daily in the winter English sea, she experiences exhilaration, even joy.

Nature inspires even as she seems to retreat. The trees are shutting down, releasing their no longer needed leaves. I think of narrowing my focus as well. Drawing inward. In this conscious retreat, I am deeply aware of all that continues to move and change. Yes, winter does bring death to mind. But when we look at our experience directly, we can note that everything is full of life and change. Even on the bleakest winter day, a bird flies across the sky, a snow flake lands and its crystal illuminates on the windowpane. An oak branch sways.

Winter brings silence and solitude into sharp relief.

And in the silence, we can take the time to notice what we might have glossed over in the splash of summer, the whirl of fall and the holidays. We can sit with ourselves and welcome whatever arises. The trees drop their leaves and stand in the strength of their stark shapes. We can find our roots, our tall spines, the specific shape of our thoughts and our days.

And we can settle in to what is here, right now. It may not be warm or green or soft. It may not adhere to our definition of life. But it is where we are. Unlike those we have lost over the years, we still have the true privilege to experience this winter, this day.

Turn your face to the wind, dip your hand in the freezing water. Brew a cup of something hot. And breathe in. Live.