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Write Now With Jean Rowe: A Fruitful Darkness

frozen bubble

The Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of light of the year. I like to look at it this way: the day after this day, the light starts getting a little longer, giving us a hint that the seasons following Winter are coming. I don’t mind it so much when the days are shorter as this is a time long considered one of rest and reflection. Hooray! Sitting under blankets to cozy up! Out of sitting still and letting the quiet be, inspiration, creativity and new energies have the space to surface. 

It’s also a time to remember that buried seeds are being blanketed by the earth just as the spiritual, healing and creative seeds planted within you are being blanketed and surrounded with tender loving care. Maybe those seeds were dropped in by a friend, a quote, a conversation. Maybe they were ones for which you have a focus, a target.

Capture in your journal about these:

What are those seeds of 2021 which have been planted within you during the year?

 How have they been planted? 

How are they being nourished as they begin to take root and to make their way to the surface? 

Some use times like the Solstice to release. Why not try making a list for all that went well this year instead of what did not? A list of accomplishments (which include naps; self-care is paramount) of what did happen instead of what did not? A list of unexpected shifts that may have felt uncomfortable to begin with but not are a bit easier inside you now?

This can be empowering: to see what is rather than what is not.

If you decide you want to make a list of what you want to release, you can write down the whole thing and burn it. You can write out those items separately on scraps of paper and burn them. You can use sage to clear your space to release energy no longer needed and invite energy that is ready to come. You might crack a window or a door to the outside while doing so. 

Experiment, play. 

What feels right to you? 

Whatever that is, it is just right.

It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.

John Burroughs