Winter Down

I do not plan to start anew

in January

that is for spring

this is the night

in the dead of winter

where I pare back excess

to reach the bones of my life

so when I’m reborn

I am reborn as only

my most essential nature

- David Gate

For several years, I have adopted a practice of creating new years resolutions in the spring, instead of new year's eve. This has felt more natural. Springtime exudes growth energy.

But now, The New Year often feels inconsequential and anticlimactic. I enjoy people's motivation and enthusiasm, but I'm more enthusiastic about the change in season than the change in the year.

This year was different. I was grieving this year. I lost my father during Autumn.

Winter started out colder, darker, and more isolating than ever before,

and has seeped into my soul.

Or maybe my soul seeped into the season, making it colder and darker.

New Years Eve came and I began to resent it all. Trapped. Frozen.
(I share more about that on Instagram...)

In a desperate attempt to find relief, I cracked open my well-worn copy of Wintering by Katherine May. She speaks of winter as both a literal season, and a season of rest and retreat in difficult times. I love this.

“In our winter, a transformation happened. We read and worked and problem-solved and found new solutions. We changed our focus away from pushing through with normal life and towards making a new one. When everything is broken, everything is also up for grabs. That’s the gift of winter: it’s irresistible. Change will happen in its wake, whether we like it or not.”

Change will happen in its wake, whether we like it or not...

Her experience in winter gives me hope for my own personal winter.

Winter was never the problem.

It’s not just waiting period, a pause before spring.

Winter sounds like a magical season,

I just haven’t yet found the magic in it yet…

Yet.

Yet, after my dad died in November, one of my best friend’s moms gifted me bulbs from her garden.

“Plant them now,” she said, “they need to winter down in order to grow in the spring”.

Maybe I, like these bulbs, need to winter down.

In Winter, I remind myself, days are shorter, reminding me to rest.

The temperature is colder, reminding me to slow down and eat warm foods.

My body works at a slower pace, preserving my energy. This allows me to strip away the activities that do not serve me.

hmm...that actually sounds magical.

Maybe this winter is my time to refocus my energy and adjust my perception of self.

On a cold winter morning, I wrote A new year. It’s not a poem, or a story - it’s something in-between. Inspired by celebrations and traditions many Pagans use during Winter Solstice.

A new year

The air crystalizes in front of my face as I breathe out. It is winter. I stumble around, trying to find the…“There you are”! I strike a match. I’d almost forgotten I could do that. It's been - what - a year?

I place the flame on the coal-darkened remains and it ignites. I cuddle close to the flame, the cold around me pressing in. For a few moments, I am relieved. Then the light wanes.

I attempt to look around me. The fire casts odd shadows, making it difficult to see.

Using my hands to feel my way around the room, I gather the things that will easily hold, and place them on the fire. It’s essential to keep the fire going.

With the greater light, I can more easily rummage through my belongings. I gather the things that no longer serve me, and place them on the fire.

It blazes bright, the room warming. That was fun!

Things swept under rugs or shut up in closets are tossed onto the flames.

As I work, I shed layers of coats, scarves and gloves. I don’t need them anymore.

The flames are ravenous. It’s thrilling.

But process turns melancholy, as I recover long forgotten items. Of the things I’ve attracted throughout the year, things I've always had. They bring with them memories - some of sorrow, some of pain, some of joy.

Most things are easy to let go, but some are not. There’s a reason I’ve become so attached. But the fire is running low and something must fuel it.

Balancing each item against my necessity for warmth and light, some of it I keep. Most of it goes.

The space grows and the obstacles around me disappear.

I dance, I leap.

How'd she jump over those flames - Ten times! Eleven? Twelve?!

A few well loved, well worn were last to join the pile. Goodbye, I think, and thank you.

I look around me.

The fire until it no longer casts shadows, but sheds light on all that’s left in the room.

What's left is Me, and the few things I can’t live without.

I am cozy and content in the warm glow of the room.

No longer buried. Free.

I sit and breathe it in, the space, as I watch the fire burn, changing into spirals of smoke, going up to God.

I say a prayer.

I feel, I release.

I have no regrets.

I know the fire will warm me for some time to come.

I look around at all the room around me. “I wonder what I’ll have to burn next year”.

After I wrote this, I realized that I am holding onto a lot of things that need to be released. And that Winter is actually the perfect time to "...pare back excess / to reach the bones of my life".

Instead of focusing on new year's resolutions this season, I'm focusing on Letting Go of limiting beliefs, physical objects, relationships and energies that no longer serve me.

A Wintering Ritual:

1. On a piece of paper, I've made two columns: KEEP vs LET GO (Another way you could phrase this is ESSENTIALS vs EVERYTHING ELSE)

2. Under the columns is a list. Ask yourself,

   What stuff have I accumulated this year?

   What people and energies did I attracted into your life (for better or worse)?

   What are the beliefs about yourself/the world formed?

3. As ideas, thoughts, memories are revealed, I'm deciding which to keep, and which to let go of. What are the things I need to burn in my metaphorical (or literal) fire?

4. Once the list is complete, I rip it right down the middle. The things I choose to let go of, I’m going to toss into the fire (I'm lucky enough to have a wood burning stove in my house - but this can be done with a candle as well). The things I’m holding onto, I’ll tape to my wall.

5. Afterwards, In the light of the flames, I'll reflect on these three questions, and write them down:

   • Was there anything about my list that surprised me? Why? (Was one list longer, was it easy or hard to answer the questions, where there any patterns on either side?)

   • Are there pieces of you that emerged that had been forgotten? What did you uncover, after all the clutter is gone?

   • After letting go of so much weight, what are the lessons you choose to learn?

This year, I’m leaning into the cold, dark season of change. I’m being present in winter, and won’t reset when her freezing arms come to wrap me up. To preserve me. To prepare me. Like bulbs under frozen ground.