The sun stands still. And then it reverses.
The stillness happens at 2:47p MT on the day this post is published. I sit at my desk on the morning of darkest day of the year, wanting to root down, to burrow into the dark and shield myself from the cold, to rest and see what may germinate when light returns.
Each summer and winter solstice, I think back to a class I took while I lived in Japan. I filled my weekends that year dabbling in shiatsu, cooking, Japanese language, an obscure martial art that I can’t recall now, and macrobiotics.
I’ve remembered the most about the macrobiotics class. As the sensei introduced us to he way of life (the Tao), he explained a few fundamentals. The one that goes with solstice, in my mind, was this:
When something reaches its zenith, it begins to become its opposite.
This, to me, is profound. We reach the peak of summer, and we then head toward winter. Once the darkest part of the night passes, day advances.
There is a constant ebb and flow, a dance of duality. Happiness and sadness. Joy and sorrow. Abundance and scarcity. Maybe even life and death?
For more on the relationship between winter solstice and Christmas, read here.
What are your thoughts and feelings about solstice? How do you feel in your body today?
Lori Holden, mom of a teen son and a young adult daughter, writes from Denver. Her book, The Open-Hearted Way to Open Adoption: Helping Your Child Grow Up Whole, is available through your favorite online bookseller and makes a thoughtful anytime gift for the adoptive families in your life. Catch episodes of Adoption: The Long View wherever you get your podcasts.
Lori was honored as an Angel in Adoption® in 2018 by the Congressional Coalition on Adoption Institute.