A Practice for the Winter Solstice

The Winter Solstice, typically experienced on December 21 in the Northern Hemisphere, is upon us. It’s celebrated among some European and indigenous cultures in some pretty fabulous ways: Soyal, with purification and dancing by the Hopi Indians; Yalda, with nuts and pomegranates and sometimes staying up all night to greet the sun the next day in Iran; and St. Lucia’s Day, with fires and the donning of white gowns and head wreaths with candles in Scandinavian countries. Perhaps you enjoy celebrating this turning of seasons from fall to winter with your own practices, celebrations, or rituals.

The Winter Solstice is characterized as “the darkest day” of the year. It’s the 24-hour period in which we have the least amount of daylight. In some far northern places, on this day and the days around it, the sun doesn’t emerge over the horizon at all! That’s right: darkness all day long. In some cases, for several days. 

Whether you find this kind of darkness alluring or quite torturous, we can all gain something special from our experience existing in it. As Mary Oliver wrote in her poem, The Uses of Sorrow:

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

Oliver opens the poem with “in my sleep, I dreamed this poem,” which says so much about darkness. Like sleep, the darkness of this time of year is a fertile ground for deep listening without the need to see clearly or understand fully. When we awaken from a dream, we can remember the astonishing or poignant parts but not all of the details. We can understand or digest its tenor but not grasp the whole picture. The time around the Winter Solstice is similar: we need not intellectualize the whispering of our hearts; we simply need to feel the current.

During this time of the year, we are enveloped, held, and nurtured by darkness. If you’re a gardener, you know that the darkest soil is usually the most fertile. We know that the womb is dark, and in this darkness life develops and evolves and is, eventually, born from it. Darkness is a quiet, mysterious, and powerful crucible. As Mary Oliver points out in The Uses of Sorrow, darkness can be uncomfortable and murky, but the most unexpected and valuable gifts can come from it. I bet you have an example or two from your own life.

You might be thinking that all of this is so interesting (why, thank you!), but what does it mean for me or my yoga practice? Well, it really doesn’t have to mean anything. But you might see it as an invitation to plant seeds within yourself this Winter Solstice so that you can become a beautiful gift - to yourself, your community, and/or the collective - in the coming months.

You might be already thinking about New Year’s resolutions or vision boards. That’s great! A new year can motivate us toward self improvement. Go for it! You can do it!

Listen Deeply

The Winter Solstice, however, is a time of year to listen, to accept murkiness or clouded vision, and trust that you already feel and know - on a deep, maybe unconscious level - the astonishing-ness of your full potential. During this time of year, listen, feel, and trust. Give up the need to see or project outwardly. Follow the instinct of your True Self to create an intention or Sankalpa. Write it down. Meditate on it. Paint a picture of it! Use it in a way that resonates with you.

Practice with Intention

Sankalpa is a Sanskrit word that might be translated as highest vow. San means “connectedness to truth,” and kalpa means “vow.” Essentially, a Sankalpa is a vow to carry out your truth. Sounds like a tall order, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s simply a heartfelt desire or intention. Rather than thinking hard and writing and rewriting a Sankalpa, note what comes to you as soon as you awaken in the morning or how you feel after meditation. Write that down. 

After you have the words or concept, you can use your Sankalpa during Yoga Nidra or meditation. You can post it on your mirror and read it out loud to yourself after you brush your teeth. The point is that it needs to be planted and nourished to grow. You don’t have to produce something from it or achieve anything to prove it, and it likely won’t “happen” quickly. You may not notice it unfolding or “happening,” and it may not change your life to the casual observer. It may not be measurable at all! Instead, sit with it. Let it soak in. Trust that you already have it in you. Practice with it. Give it time. Your heart knows. Listen to that. You may just see something blossom in the spring.

Happy Winter Solstice, friends.