Even on these chilly mornings I stumble my way to a front row seat of nature’s show. I dress in fuzzy cloak and mitten and teeter on my rocking chair, sitting in the dark night of my porch, a practice of seeing in the shadows. It is cold, it is silent, the world is still. With my Morning Thunder tea in hand, I let my eyes wake up with the rise of the sun. The shy crest of light creeping from the night reaches onto the frost bitten grass and crumbled amber leaves that scatter the barren land whose dense surface protects a fierce current of life resting till spring. My cold breath catches the light and in its cloud I contemplate my spirit, the way one contemplates the spirit and symbols of smoke that emanate from the sacred pipe. As the sun climbs higher its’ radiance somehow imparts a voice into the songbirds and an awaking stir into the crisp air, an air that is saying farewell to Autumn. In a matter of moments the black has turned to gold and the day has found a new way to reappear.

I pull my achy body out of my well-worn rocker and root my bones to the Earth. It is in her primordial story and venerable expression that I come to align with the wild nature of my own inner Earth, a grounded hub to which authentic life springs forth. At this center, my soul like a tree maturing into a full bodied canopy, no longer a sapling and not yet an ancient, but one with volume and roots sturdy enough to provide support, shade and fruit. One that is old enough to know many seasons, and yet young enough to desire many more. I find my seat beneath a Chinaberry tree and place my face in wake of a warm light, I listen to the sounds of truth carried on the wind, and it is from this guardian tree that I will gather its lessons for this winter.

In winter trees become dormant, not producing leaves or fruit, they conserve this energy for the great, grand birth that tears the womb of spring. They are starkly undressed, exposing crooked limbs and broken branches, a courageous dedication to raw, shameless vulnerability. Dormancy, like all elements of hibernation, creates an internal slowing down of systems within the tree, measurable growth is suspended and bitterness holds with icy hands an era of sincere quietude. The tree’s cells around the heartwood are magically signaled to withhold softness and tenderness during the forbidding winter months. Each winter the heartwood undergoes a transformative armoring so that they don’t freeze and can withstand the harsh weather. This ‘hardening off’ process is necessary to survive.  Nature is majestically built for adaptation and resilience; it is imbued with a deep knowing of what is needed to thrive.

I am believer that our souls are reflected through the natural world, therefor what nature creates externally is also created internally, metaphorically speaking. Humans move congruently to the rhythms of the natural world, but we must be willing to slow down and listen and see. The winter solstice is the perfect time to contemplate the interior tree of self, and act of Jungian consciousness that leads us to a rich current of universal symbol and meaning. Just as a tree must slow down and conserve its energy, so too must we tend to our healing through stillness and restoration. Just as the tree sheds its leaves to be seen fully, so must we be willing to unveil the layers that hide our humanness from one another. As old leaves, each a story, rest at our thickening roots, in the nakedness of surrender we open to the grace and space of new buds and later blossoms. Just as a tree must harden at certain seasons to ensure its survival, so too must we armor to withstand the storms of life that come from bitter experiences.

Typically I provide community ceremony around the solstice, and have been asked why I refrained this year. My truth is to be quieter and to move inward to my personal process. When I nurture my own soil and tend my own garden I am a stronger trunk to lean on and a more expansive canopy to rest beneath. I cannot truly support others without embodying the work that supports myself. Together we are a forest, not separate from one another.

I have, however, put together some new tid-bits of Solstice meaning and practice for you to create in your time and space.   If you are newer to the symbolism of the winter solstice, you might also visit here or here.

In this season long nights define the winter solstice. In this time of introspection, stillness and shadow walking we call to the spirit keepers of the North. The North is perhaps the most paradoxical time on the Medicine Wheel. Though the sleeping Earth appears blanketed in death, there is an underground energy of brooding beauty. It is a time to trust in the powers of the unseen, to listen to the powers our own natural intuition and to brace our selves for the harsh ways that birth wisdom.

• Cultivate a daily mediation or prayer practice to connect to your own inner knowing through silent reverence. Genuinely have faith for the mystery.
• Set intentions to focus on what winter means for you. Perhaps look up the kind of tree that is associated with your birth year and allow its attributes to be a reflection of your soul.
• Despite the over emphasis of busy, busy, busy, slow down (just as the cells of the tree) and harness your energy for another season. Commit to a gentler practice and establish a space outside where you can stop and watch nature unfold and be humbled and in awe by the way of the Earth Mother.
• Be willing to be in the cold during the margins of the day, this is dawn and dusk or beneath the belly of a full moon (Christmas cold moon is quiet auspicious). Let your face be chilled, a nose reddened, and fingers slightly numb. I assure you, you will awaken a resilient self.  

The North is associated with our elders and teachers, those who share their wisdom of the heartwood. It is a time to extend homage to our teachers, healers and family that have showed the way. It is a time to teach the youth what we have seen and what we know, to be a steady guide for both the practical and the spiritual elements of wholesome being.

• Extend gratitude to those teachers, healers and fellow journeyers that have watered your roots. This can be a phone call, a card, a sit with tea, or creating an alter space dedicated to them.
• If possible, spend meaningful time with your teachers. I had the pleasure of a sweet restorative/nidra practice with Mary, my teacher of yoga body and spirit. On the night of the solstice I will sacred ceremony with WingedWolf, SweetGrass Woman, and WingedFlame. The Rowan tree in me salutes my dearest teacher, Yeil Tlaa (Raven’s Mother) daughter of Raven Clan Elder, Anotonia Jack, from the Taku River Tlingit People who introduced me to my self, who walked with me in a laborious quest of healing, and later gave me the incitation into the medicine wheel to which I walk, and of course NightWing who helped me craft my healing and vision.
• Share stories and tales with the young one’s, cultivate their understanding and connection with nature.   Teach the children well and teach them how walk with the Sacred.
• Honor the elder family members that have helped define you, the feminine for the full moon approaching. I will cook Machaca for my mother, I will bake pecan cookies and eat candy corn for grandmothers, and for great-grandma I will wrap my boys and myself in her hand-stitched quilt while telling tales of trees. For the crone to come I will drink whisky and wait in the wind. 

Ceremony is always a part of the solstice. Ceremony works with the unseen energetic realms of the human experience. Through the use of symbols, myth, and ritual one can access greater awareness to underlying messages that are not as tangible in the material world. Ceremony sets into motion respect and intention for the unseen, and reinforces that which is felt and known.

• Build a fire, preferably to the North and keep it lit well past midnight (to be honest, I can hardly stay up past 9, so do the best you can). Create an alter space by the fire that holds objects for teachers, elders, and find objects that represent winter to you. Burn white buffalo sage and sweet grass with a desert wood (or wood local to your area). Try to let the fire go out on its own, not drowning it in water.  If you are celebrating with others, allow layers of silence and collective contemplation, then share your insights and begin new tradition of truth speak. Many times during ceremony we ‘burn the old’, but for the drawing of winter, I invite you to simply sit with the company of the fire and watch its embers and flames shape-shift into a dance of our ancestors. Stories and images will appear, and through keen observation you may come to understand how to create your own spark in the dark of night. 

Extend gratitude for another season arrived. Through the gathering of years we gain in strength and can cultivate wisdom and a genuine understanding of the seasons and Sage-ing of life. You are the tree that stands in winter. Slow down, be bare and trust that you were born to endure this kind of weather.

Have a wonderful winter and holiday season. You are in my thoughts. Thursday is a cold, full moon of winter, the first in many years. I will be along side fire and taking in the light of the night. Perhaps our eyes will share the view.

Aho, blessings, Namaste,

Robin Afinowich

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