The activities leading up to solstice and Christmas were very fun. Wonderful, sacred music, good friends and margaritas, cookies and special foods, and some quieter tea times with close friends. But then, a dear friend died, my body started breaking down and I decided to forego more events and just have some retreat time at home quietly to process everything. Rest and recovery. Gentleness and nurturing. “Wintering” as some call it.
Not only is the winter season asking us to be quiet, but this experience led me to believe my own body and soul were suggesting, no, demanding it of me. When we crash and burn, it’s almost a gift in the necessary balance of life. This is what the holidays can do, and I guess I still think I can do it all.
So most of my few days on retreat were full of nothing, just being quiet. Quiet so I could receive what I needed, find some stability and groundedness. Come into myself again. When we’re out there, it so much eliminates the more inward and introspective times that are so profound for us. I learn so much just by settling into a meditative state and feeling what’s there for me.
Along with some yoga, some fresh air, lots of tea, English Choir Carols, and writing, I was able to find myself again, and get my body back to some kind of order. “This moment is the perfect teacher,” says Pema Chodren. It always is, if we just let it, accept it, enjoy it.
I used to wander through the canyons in Utah to find solace, myself again. Being winter now (even though it seems like spring), I feel like it’s important to follow the seasons, just as we need day and night. The seasonal shifts bring us hope and change, continuity, reassurance. Spring will come again, but why not really delight in this winter time of cold and dark? There will be a time to roam and rove again, but not now. Life feels cyclical, not linear.
In my quiet, I saw much beauty: the patterns of the seeds along the stalks of dried weeds; the sun shining though my Christmas cactus leaves showing me the intricate vein system bringing moisture and nourishment to the flower tips; the juvenile red-tailed hawk on my fence post with its predatory look, yet its stunning beauty. Beauty soothes me, if I give myself the time and space to see it, really look at it. The dormancy, the silence now. The Earth and its creatures are fascinating.
There are two excellent books at our library on this subject of wintering:
“Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times,” by Katherine May: “ ... There is grace in letting go, stepping back and giving yourself time to repair in the dark ... an intimate, revelatory exploration of the ways we can care for and repair ourselves when life knocks us down ... May models an active acceptance of sadness and finds nourishment in deep retreat, joy in the hushed beauty of winter, and encouragement in understanding life as cyclical, not linear.”
“The Pleasures of Wintering: Winter-Inspired Rituals for Rejuvenation, Serenity, and Joy,” by Erin Longhurst: “ ... The enriching lessons of winter through practices that promote rest, contemplation, and rejuvenation, including rituals for self-care, slow living, mindfulness, and creativity.”
Perhaps wintering is a small taste of death. They are similar, in that both hold retreat, withdrawal and letting go.
Then, in early January, everything changed, as it always does. Action, activities, out in the community again ... the slope is upward now, full of hope and promises, with more and more light, especially at the end of the day. But maybe I can still enjoy a bit of wintering every afternoon. The peace and stillness were wondrous ...
Martha McClellan has lived in Durango since 1993 and has been an educator, consultant and writer. Reach her at mmm@bresnan.net.
