Revel in the Sacred Darkness
You, darkness, of whom I am born–
I love you more that the flame
that limits the world
to the circle it illuminates
and excludes all the rest.
But the dark embraces everything:
shapes and shadows, creatures and me,
people, nations–just as they are.
It lets me imagine
a great presence stirring beside me.
I believe in the night.
The Night, by Rainer Maria Rilke
Here in my corner of the Northern Hemisphere, we've begun to journey from the heady warmth and abundance of harvest towards the darkness of Solstice. This is a time when the ancestors of this place would have been finishing up necessary preparations to make it through the long, cold, dark night. The elders would be giving away all the fruits of their labor to ensure the community survives until spring, when the cycle begins again.
Winter was a time for resting, recovering from and taking stock of the passing year. For dreaming of the seeds we will plant in the spring. What came to pass this year? What did this year ask of my life? What did I grow this year that will return to life in the spring? What parts of my life are withered and worn, and ready to succumb to eternal rest? What wants to emerge in its place? What must be given away to ensure the community will survive the lean season?
Last winter was my first winter. All my memories of this time of year include waking up at the crack of dawn with a feeling of utter vulnerability to thrust my tender body into the harsh frozen morning. Scrape and shovel and salt, traverse the icy roads to get to school then later to work.
But last year was different. There wasn’t much else to do. I finally had permission to slow down. Permission to rest. Permission to soften into the season of the long dark. It was an absolute fucking privilege. A reprieve from the urgency of capitalism, of not enoughness.
All I had to do was not die, which was infinitely more complex than it once had been. But I was luckier than some. I had a house and heat and water and food and even luxuries like yarn and thread. I taught myself crochet and embroidery. I bought some seeds and planned my garden. I made gifts from things I foraged and grew. I sipped hot tea and tended communal fires. I studied the winter rites of passage. I held my first death lodge and practiced saying goodbye. I took stock of my words and deeds and prepared to give it all away.
Somehow, in the midst of a global pandemic and late stage capitalism, I felt my way into embodied safety that opened me up to the gifts of winter. Since then, slowing down has become one of my super powers.
But in a season of yin, we yang the fuck out. The neurochemical experience of the season is often headier than an acid trip and way longer lasting. It’s no wonder that when I worked in the hospital, we experienced a sharp increase in admissions related to heightened stress, anxiety & depression and the various ways we attempt to cope: sick hearts, tummies, livers, & gall bladders. I name this not to shame our collective coping behaviors. Rather, it makes so much sense that we are responding to the nervous system overload of how we do darkness by coping in this way.
It is no coincidence that Christmas falls so near to the longest night of the year. At the root of this holiday is a blend of traditions, both Pagan and Christian, meant to bring us together to revel in the sacred darkness. To stoke our internal fires and seek the light inside ourselves. It is in the depths of the darkness that we receive the gifts of rest and dreams. It is in the season of darkness that what is dying, both within us and in the living world, may surrender to its final rest. In surrendering to the sacred darkness, we open ourselves to death. In our sacred rest, we may begin to dream of what is ready to release into death and what new life wants to spring forth. We invite it to work upon us, and to reveal to us what is no longer in service of life.
When the sunlight greets us in the spring, we emerge stripped to our essentials, a fallow field for renewal and rebirth. During this time when we are less distracted by the bright, busy, yang action of summer, we gain introspection and clarity. Now is a time to rest, to exhale, to slowly sip our tea and to recalibrate our awareness to the unseen—the subtle and powerful energy all around us.
What does it look like for you to slow your pace during this time? As we approach the holidays, consumer culture ramps up with an endless barrage of our not-enoughness. What do you notice in your body at the suggestion of slowing down? What does it cost you to slow down? What sacrifices would you have to make? What would you gain from time to rest, dream, and move through life at a slower pace?
I feel the call again to rest and dream. To tuck myself tight into the fertile bed of soil. To dream through the long dark nights. To store up energy for spring emergence. To surrender in trust that life springs forth from death. Until spring, dear ones, go gently.
As I prepare to go inward, I feel pulled to give away all my gifts. My medicine, my words, my songs, and all my love. In this spirit, I offer you 5 simple rituals and a family recipe to embrace the gifts of the darkness.
Rituals to Receive the Gifts of the Darkness
1. Shadow Work: These are the parts of ourselves that have never known love, unconscious or disowned aspects of ourselves. It is profoundly transformational work and there is no better time to do it than right now when our inner light is so illuminated!
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” -Carl Jung
The idea behind shadow work is that when we acknowledge and embrace the darker sides of ourselves- the shame, the fear, the parts that we would prefer to keep hidden in the shadows, we become whole. When we fall in love with our whole selves, good and bad, we send a message to our subconscious that we are good and worthy. This light disempowers the shadow and creates profound shifts in one's life. It transforms darkness into light and fear into love.
Journal prompts:
If there were no consequences, no rules and no societal judgement, how would you change your life?
If there was nothing that you had to do, what would you do?
What are some small, doable shifts that could bring you into alignment with the longings of your shadow?
2. Candle Meditation: There is something primal and satisfying about staring mindlessly at a flame. This practice can improve your memory, enhance your ability to focus and amplify your spiritual awareness.
Make yourself comfortable and cozy
Light a candle and gaze upon the flame.
Start with the intention of gazing for a short time, perhaps 5 minutes.
Return your attention to the flame when your mind begins to wander.
When you are finished, rest with eyes closed for a few minutes or journal to integrate the practice.
3. Deep Rest: Rest is a deeply healing, recalibrating medicine for your whole body. Creating a bedtime ritual can help to cue your body into allowing a deeper state of rest.
Take a nice, hot bath before bedtime with any salts or essential oils that call to you.
Drink an herbal tea before bed (you might try valerian, skullcap, milky oats, lemon balm, or chamomile)
Go to sleep earlier than you normally would. If it feels accessible, try shutting off or putting your phone away an hour before you lay down and leave it outside of your bedroom to support your nervous system in entering a state of regulated safety and rest.
Listen to delta wave Binaural Beats before bed. Other options might be listening to guided sleep meditations or yoga nidra.
4. Dream Journaling: This is one of my most supportive spiritual practices. Dreams can carry the messages of ancestors, both known and unknown. They can guide us onto the path of our soul’s purpose and longing. Even if you can’t recall your dreams initially, write anyway. If you show up to this practice each morning upon waking, you will begin to recall more and more of your dreams.
“Like the two opposing wings of a butterfly, the dream-world is one wing, and the awake world is the other wing. The butterfly must have both wings connected at the Heart in order to fly and function. Neither wing—dreams or waking—contains all of life. Real life occurs as a result of the interaction of the two. The life is the butterfly’s heart, and both dreaming and awake working life are necessary to keep the heart alive.” - Martin Prechtel
Keep a journal on your bedside table
Set an intention to spend even just five minutes writing upon waking
Write down whatever you recall: images, emotions, sensations, in as much detail as feels accessible
Ask yourself, what does this dream long for?
What was the emotional arch of the dream?
What is it like to “try on” the different characters in your dream? What do you notice?
5. Sacred Silence: In dominant culture we often find ourselves caught in a cycle of continuous output or consumption. Silence offers a potent break from this cycle, a portal into integrating all that we give out and take in.
By talking less, you receive energy in rather than continually pushing it out. In this way, you receive expanded awareness, wisdom and self knowledge. Practice silence by talking less, listening more and carving out times of the day, week or month for moments, hours or days of silence.
Black-Eyed Peas with Sage & Gorgonzola
Black-eyed peas can be traced back to medieval Africa. Trade routes saw black eyed-peas become beloved all around the world. Though they were not universally beloved: ancient Romans believed they contained the souls of the dead. An old European belief held that they had a spiritual power to make folks get rowdy. They are, in fact, the musical fruit and not actually peas at all. In the antebellum South, they were considered poor peoples’ and enslaved Africans’ food. “Eat poor on New Year’s and eat fat the rest of the year.” is an old southern saying.
There are many tales and traditions that link this plant with spiritual power and with bringing good luck to those who eat them on this day. It’s said this tradition goes all the way back to 500 A.D. where they were to be eaten for good luck during Rosh Hashanah.
My mother made these for me and my grandmother made them for her. In the lean years when my grandma made them, it was very simple and yet a decadent treat to cook them with salt pork and garlic. My mother honored her mother by making them exactly the same way.
Sage brings such deep, grounding medicine to this dish. A touch of gorgonzola brings all these ingredients together to sing in harmony.
If you really wanna cook with fire this New Years Day, I highly recommend eating your black eyed peas alongside some rice, sage and honey cornbread and some collard greens with some Louisiana hot sauce on the side. This recipe makes 4 servings as a main course.
Ingredients:
Black-eyed peas - Soak 1 ½ cups of dried peas overnight or use 3 15 ounce cans drained
2 ounces diced Salt pork or bacon
1/2 cup minced fresh sage
Garlic - 3 cloves minced or finely chopped
Onion - 1 small vidalia or sweet onion diced
Gorgonzola about 6 ounces
Black pepper and salt to taste. The salt pork or bacon brings a fair amount of salt to this dish so I typically let all the flavors marry then taste it and add salt and pepper at the end.
Steps:
Render the diced salt pork or bacon over medium heat in a pot or dutch oven until it’s a little brown and crispy. Transfer it out of the pan and cook the onion in the rendered fat until the onions are translucent, about 5-10 minutes. Add the garlic and sage and stir to incorporate. You’ll want to let them get a little attention from the heat before adding the peas, just a few minutes. When the aromatic scent of the garlic and sage hits you, it’s time to add the peas. Once the peas are incorporated, add the gorgonzola and return the salt pork or bacon and stir them in. Let it all simmer together for 5-10 minutes and taste to see how much salt and pepper you want to add. Adjust the seasoning accordingly and serve when ready. Enjoy!
I cannot tell you how the light comes.
But that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
Into the deepest dark that enfolds you.
Though it may seem long ages in coming
Or arrive in a shape you did not foresee.
-excerpt from How The Light Comes by Jan Richardson
