In the natural world, things moving in cycles: the cycles of a day, of a relationship, of a life...the cycles of the moon and sun. No season is quite the same as it was the year before--yet there are certain things we count on and have counted on for centuries.

As we let go of what we no longer need, we prepare to move into the season of winter--a time of receptivity that sometimes feels like emptiness. The movement of nature right now is a downward movement. The nights are getting long. There are fewer hours of daylight. Things aren't growing much right now. Most of the trees have dropped their leaves. If we didn't know better, we would think they had died, that this was the end. It certainly looks like it is all over. And our bodies respond with fear at some unconscious level because we still have the animal knowledge that we could die out there in the cold. We feel our physical vulnerability keenly.

Outside, the squirrels are scampering around busily gathering nuts and burying them in the ground, so that they will be able to survive the winter. Not so long ago, our ancestors had to ask themselves: "Do we have enough resources to make it through the winter? Have we harvested enough, stored enough away to make it through?" Whatever they had harvested and stored was all they had until things began to grow again.

In addition to studying Chinese 5-elements theory, I have also spent time at the School of Lost Borders with Steven Foster and Meredith Little, who teach a pan-cultural system of the four directions. In this system, the north represents the winter of our lives, which is the time of the give-away, of full adulthood. We are clear about who we are, why we are here on this earth, and what gifts we bring. We find ways to give our gifts to the community so that our people may be sustained through the chill of winter. The cardinal rule is that no harm shall come to the children.

Winter is a time of conserving and replenishing, of gathering energy. The trees hold energy deep within their trunks and roots. Life is held internally and underground. Did you ever ruin a project by talking about it too soon or by trying to take action before you were really clear about where you were headed? Winter is a great time to allow ourselves to dream without committing to action-to simply take pleasure in our visions of what might be, without pinning ourselves down to results.

If you have ever stepped outside after a heavy snowfall, you have experienced the quiet of winter. Winter is a time of deep listening--to ourselves, to one another, to the silence. It's a time of not knowing, of hanging out with possibilities. We are naturally called to "be" more than "do." It is easier to see the essence of things in this season. The trees are no longer shielded by their leaves, so we can see their fundamental structure. It may also be a time we can see our own true nature more clearly.

The plants rest in winter, gathering potency so that they can burst forth in the spring. The Farmers' Almanac suggests that people in moderate climates store their seeds in the refrigerator if they don't have cold winters. The cold and dark allows the seeds to gather power for energetic start in spring. If we truly allow ourselves to restore and replenish ourselves in winter, we will have the strength to burst forth in the spring. Imagine how much force it takes for a seed to burst out of its casing and push through the soil to reach the sun. The plant may run up against a stone, but that doesn't stop it. It simply finds a way around.

So how does all this fit with the culture we're living in? The truth is, it doesn't! The period between Thanksgiving and New Years' is one of the busiest times of the year-socializing, shopping, fulfilling obligations. In our culture, we expect ourselves to go full tilt, "24-7," 365 days a year. We are constantly urged to do more. The pervasive message is that we should be moving ever upward and outward--getting stronger, making more money, having more friends, buying a bigger house, acquiring more possessions, getting a better job. Our leaders talk about constant growth as the answer to every problem. If we are not on the upswing, we feel like losers or failures. Even new age teachers imply that we should be able to attain permanent good health and abundance if we simply have the right positive attitude. And yet nature shows us that what is full will one day be empty. What goes up must come down. A bright light casts a dark shadow. Thus, each of us must face times of darkness-within and without.

Because our culture does not support our connection to the downward cycles of nature, we often end up working against the natural movement of the season. During these times we may feel sad, empty, or depressed. Some of this is caused by the societal context, yet some of it is natural. Pain and loss can be great teachers if we will only open our hearts. They call us to look at our lives, to ask the hard questions: "Am I living the life I want to live? Or am I measuring myself by somebody else's idea of a good life?" In the winter, we probably don't know. Hopefully we can learn, as Rilke said in his "Letters to A Young Poet", to "be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves..."

How can we approach the winter in a more balanced, harmonious way? Let me describe a day to you. Probably few of us will spend an entire day this way, but perhaps you can find elements that can be integrated into your life.

On a wintry morning, I wake up as it begins to grow light. I bundle up and go outside where I watch the sun rise. I see the sky transforming as the rose, purple, and orange colors emerge from the dark. When the sun itself finally appears, I go to a favorite park for a leisurely hike in the woods. Although I love to walk as a form of exercise, I go to the woods today for the simple of enjoyment of opening my senses in nature. As I walk on the snow-covered trails, I listen to the sounds of the wind and the birds. I find a quiet place to sit long enough for the creatures to get comfortable with my presence. From this spot, I observe many squirrels, a few downy woodpeckers, flocks of chirping sparrows and a small gray rabbit.

I return home, where I draw myself a steaming bath filled with fragrant herbs and sea salt. After a good long soak, I dress and make a fire in the wood stove. Sitting cozily in a rocking chair with my journal, I jot down thoughts about my life, observations about the natural world, dreams for the future.

After a meal of winter vegetable stew and French bread, I bundle up again and go outside to see the sun go down. Later I find a large meadow where I can watch the stars, bright in a cold, clear sky. Back home, as the fire dies down, I fall peacefully asleep under warm blankets and a colorful quilt.

I realize it's very difficult for any of us to spend an entire day like the one I just described. But we can all find times of solitude and rest, if that is our clear intention. We can discover our own ways to explore the fertile darkness, to make friends with the silence.

A good winter means a strong spring of restored energy, clear vision, and a sense of purpose. In this season, may you find deep peace, dreaming the dark, so that you may burst forth when the time is right into a strong and beautiful spring.

(c)2012 Jeanne Mackey, MSW, Ann Arbor, MI.
Email: jmackey50 AT gmail.com