I began dreading the onset of winter in October, convinced it was only an enjoyable time for lovers and people who have kids. My anxiety about the impending winter grew as it drew closer and I found myself fantasizing about escaping the city, going somewhere, anywhere other than where I was, where surely I could go through my process in a more uplifting environment.

But alas... there I was... here I am. Seeing no other option, I embraced the uncomfortable spectrum of my human experience, eyes wide open. As the days became shorter and the on-set of darkness enveloped much sooner than I was prepared, I felt the threads of light hanging on, somewhere deep beneath the surface. I am graced with presence of an amazing support system, which fueled my resolve, to not only sit with what was going on with me internally, but dive head first into its depths, with the intention to stay with my suffering until I learned it's lessons.

As I released my resistance and moved into acceptance, I found myself more liberated and present than ever. That's when I re-discovered the gifts of winter. What better time to serve my process! A season that allows--and in some parts of the world forces--us to rest, reflect, hybernate, germinate, retreat into the cave and sit in the slow-time, looking within while planting the seeds for the new patch of ourselves that we will harvest in the spring. The dark-time, the winter time, became just the healing I needed. The cycle of death that Winter holds, whispers a promise of rebirth as the light once again emerges.

Darktime by Shae Savoy

So the way the lip of night

curls protectively around starkling moon-grey days

doesn't have to be

evil.

Winter isn't evil

The dark gives rise to cusps,

to emergences,

a sweetly nestled seedling cupped and precious

in the Dark Mothers

cavities,

warm. safe.

We revolve too hotly around the sun,

value the detached transcendence of

incandescent bulbs and a certain maleness

of solar authority.

The Dark half of the year suits me just fine.

An incubation,

A percolation.

Winter time. The Dream Time.

Worms and calligraphy.

A quiet turning under, the underbelly

A rich velvet basket,

stars and fog tucked around the edges.

The Dark, my love, is a

sweet loamy

Pocket for

Change-lings..

When we must deal with problems, we instinctively resist trying the way that leads through obscurity and darkness. We wish to hear only of unequivocal results, and completely forget that these results can only be brought about when we have ventured into and emerged again from the darkness. But to penetrate the darkness we must summon all the powers of enlightenment that consciousness can offer.

- Carl Jung