The Reason for the Season

Lately I've been thinking about what is basic: the very minimum we need to survive, or at least to keep on keeping on, and I'm not talking about coping beverages or chocolate or bad tv, or even bloglines and typepad, as much as I consider those things personal necessities. 

I'm talking basic: it applies to shepherding, and to most farming, where "stress" on an animal means that there is a deficit in their basic needs.  I'm slightly stunned, in retrospect, to realize that it's largely how the medical world thinks about infants: they're either hydrated or dehydrated, thriving or failing to do so.  There's no consideration of comfort, no care for emotional states, no namby-pamby how do you feel about that.  It's about whether you will survive, long-term, in that state.  And between that, and where I and probably everyone reading this lives, is an unfathomable gulf.

There's a lot of whining lately on the part of people who claim Christianity that we're forgetting the real meaning of the season.  And since there seems to be ample evidence that the date of this Christian festival was chosen to coincide with much older pagan festivals, including Yule, I'm going to have to agree with them.  Because waaaay back then in the day, before Jesus was the reason for the season, this here little festival was about staying alive.

I have central heating.  I have two winter coats (actually four, if you count the dress one from back when business attire was formal and the navy surplus pea coat that's a pinch too small in my current, um, physical configuration).  There's a car with a blasting heater and an office at the top of a 100-year-old building with steam heat.  I have electric lights, a stove, and a microwave.  Hot water at the twist of a knob.  A toilet conveniently located just next to the heating register.  Down comforter, over wool blanket, over soft cotton sheet.

I complain about the cold.  Also the dark.  It's hard.  I'm not saying it's not.

But how much of that stuff was available to my great-grandmother?  How much to hers?  How much to the witchy chick who must have gotten my family named after a tree back in Ireland back before names were passed down from fathers?  How about those Vikings?  The people who were like, hey, let's get on a boat (Alden Amos will remind you that every scrap of fiber on that boat was not just handspun, but spindle-spun, and yes, we're talking about SAILS here people).  Because maybe the weather in freakin' NEWFOUNDLAND might be better that what we got right here at home in Norway.  That, my friends, is cold.

I know we all know this, but there were no good old days.  Life may not necessarily be better, whatever that is, but it's a hell of a lot more comfortable.  We're handworkers and we keep alive the knowledge of those times, at least scraps of it.  But our handwork is leisure and theirs was survival, and I don't completely know how to reconcile those things, do you?

This darkness that we face, in our comfortable, climate-controlled lives, it's tough.  We feel pressured, we feel stressed, we feel like we're failing over and over to achieve some insane expectation of, I don't know, something about Christmas or Xmas or Holiday or whatever, and family and togetherness and gift-giving and certainly heightened expectations of ourselves and each other, in these lands and these times of plenty.  And I don't mean to take away from that, because it's real and if you couldn't guess, I feel it too.  But if we want to talk about the reason for the season, the reason for the trees and the wreaths and the Yule log and the candles in the windows, then we're talking about dark and cold, dark and cold that you couldn't escape, that was there every day with the sick and the frail and the newly-born and the mad.  We're talking about survival.  Getting through the winter.  They really meant that: getting through. 

So thinking about the reason for the season, first I'm thinking about just plain being cold.  There's a lot of cold and darkness out there, and doing what I can do, from my privileged place here, is part of the light I mean to carry through the darkness of today.  That means knitting for charity, but also donating money.  Items hand-made with compassion carry more than wool and stitches, but there is an undeniable irony to first-worlders helping the third world with handwork, at least to my mind.  I've spent a lot of my life feeling insecure--unsafe--economically, but getting back to basics, I've never been in danger.  So more generosity, more putting of my money where my mouth is, and my heart. 

So, every Yule, I light a candle.  That candle symbolically holds my intention for the light I want to bring back with the sun as it returns, the tiny flame I'm keeping alive through the dark night in that mythic tribal firepit in my imagination.  And this year's candle will be about basics.  It's a little more complicated than before, maybe just more muddled, but I want to hold the gratitude, or maybe even just the awareness, of my rare and profound comfort.  And I want to remember to take care of my own basics, as they're defined in this rarified world: remember to eat things that are not all fat and sugar--your body doesn't need those things because you're not shivering through darkened nights and shearing the sheep whose fleeces you spin.  Remember to exercise, a laughable idea to my grandmothers but a real issue for me.  The idea of driving my car to a place where people walk on treadmills sets my teeth on edge, but right now that might be the most realistic plan, and until I have a barn full of sheep to hoist and feed and chase and fence (not planning, I'm just saying, this isn't exactly my lifestyle), I'm not getting it any other way. 

And the care and feeding of the soul: that too.  Because those people who had to process their own food, who had to spin and weave their own cloth and sew it by hand, never mind the sails for the viking ships, those people took that time.  They lit the windows with precious tallow, they burned the largest, driest Yule log on the fire and they took the time to cut greenery to hang inside their cold and dark homes to remind them that all was not gray and white and frozen.  Those lives, full of pressures and stress we can't imagine, made space to hold the sacred, to observe the seasons, and to mark it for themselves and for the spirits that went before.  And if they could make that space, so can I.  We said grace tonight, at Henry's suggestion.  More, like that, as the sun returns, so mote it be.

That's my intention, such as it is; please use the comments to cast your own intention for the coming light.  I promise to hold that intention with you, to coax the flame ever brighter, as we make it through the winter, and past the dark.

For the good of all, and may it harm none, so mote it be.  And Merry Solstice to you.

Comments

[Imbrium]

Thank you for putting it all to words.

My intention for the coming light is to be a bit more deliberate...to keep in mind that every little thing I do matters. To remember that just because I want to do something doesn't me I should do it. To straighten out my priorities and start using them to guide my actions.

[claudia]

Cate, thanks for writing. I just LOVE reading you. Merry Solstice!

[jpt]

Several years ago, the full moon rose on the longest night. My partner and I drove into the Angeles mountains, past the light pollution and the smog. The moonlight showed us the desert and the chapparal--and the darkness. I knew then that we celebrate the longest night for this simple reason: it ends. And what comes after is not quite so dark, not quite so cold. This is the world's promise to us; may it be our promise to each other.

[Steph]

Happy Solstice to you too. Thanks for warm thoughts on this cold day.

[Mary in Boston]

Very beautifully written. Thank you so much. My intention for next year is to live more deliberately and more thoughtfully than I have in the past.

[LaurieM]

I have been thinking of knitting my husband a wool sweater to wear to work. He works outside all winter and we live in Canada. I know wool is the best insulator, and yet all his work wear is storebought synthetics because its cheaper and he's just going to wear it out at work. And so I was planning on making a vest, so I could skip having to repair the sleeves every year.

Your post has me reconsidering that decision. I see now that one sweater, for one dearly loved man, is not so much work to keep in repair. Thanks.

[Aubrey in Oklahoma]

I'm non-religous, but getting the Christmas tree up up every year is of paramount importance to me, with its over-kill on the lights and sparkle. And now I know why. I need the light to show me into the new season, to offer time for reflection, to bring me and mine joy and warmth in these, the darkest days of the year. Thank you, Cate, for a lovely, thought-provoking post - with the madness that this house becomes this time of year, I can sit back and secretly smile, and know. I will light my candle tonight, and be more intentional with everything that I do in the coming year.

[Judy H.]

Happy Solstice!

When I light my candle tonight, I will be thinking of concentrating on my needs. Not the most basic of food and shelter, but the need for good physical and mental health, and the habits I must foster to achieve that health.

[Birgit]

Thank you for that wonderful text!

It´s so much like my own thoughts about the reasons for yule-tide, but quite often I get the feeling that I´m the only one one to see things that way.

Obviously this is not so. :-)

I´m going to remember this yule, that in this world of plenty (and central heating), PEOPLE, real caring friends, are still very rare, probably always were.

Hope you all have a real nice Yule, Xmas or whatever you call it and very special people to celebrate with you.

[Sara]

Wowza. Freakin' amazing post indeed.

In a rather internally-focussed way, I'm lighting a candle to get a better grip on letting go of all the crap I don't need in my house...like you know, the diaper stash that takes up 1/2 a closet that we REALLY don't need anymore. Simplifying indeed...you've given me a headful to think about.

[Cathy]

This time of year I always stop and remember the 13 winters at the farm - when the ice storms knocked out the power (pump for the well as well as the lights) and how grateful I was for the propane and wood stoves to cook on, to heat the house. When I spent hours feeding livestock and breaking pond ice. I take nothing for granted now but oh, I am so grateful for all the amenities I now have. And you reminded me to remember the folks I left behind who still are struggling to keep warm, keep livestock fed and watered with the long winter still to come.

[Nannette]

Thank you, Cate, for the thought provoking words. Much to think about indeed.

In celebration of the returning light, may I be the change I wish to see in the world.

[Christy]

While reading your post, my breathing slowed. My mind slowed. I savored the words and their meaning.

Tonight, on the darkest, longest night, I'll attend a funeral.

And when I go to sleep tonight, I will say a prayer for life and peace.

Thank you for giving me a moment of reflection.

[Tipper]

I'm having a very bipolar sort of holiday season: on the one hand, I'm greedier than I am normally (usually, I don't care about presents; this year I want to be spoiled). On the other, I'm acutely aware of how much - of everything - I have. A thought struck me in the parking lot of the grocery store the other day: I have never had to go hungry. I was surprised at how long it took me to realize that. One of my coworkers recently befriended a woman and her family who relocated to our area (cold, cold Minnesota) from New Orleans. They've lost everything; what a way to drive the point (of me having SO MUCH) home. I love how my coworkers have mobilized to help furnish their previously bare home (FEMA, in a show of *great generosity* - note sarcasm - gave them just days to find a new place and kicked them out of their hotel).

I'm with Thorny - I need to concentrate on the here and now, instead of wanting more of everything. I need to move on from the past and get my head OUT of the future. I need to do whatever I can to not only improve me, but to improve the lives of others, and it needs to be done without greed or selfishness. I need to get my stuff back to basics.

[Carrie]

I think I have two thoughts for the light I light tonight - that I remember that what I *think* I need to live is a lot more than what I *actually* need, and to not let the turkeys get me down. Because there are a lot of turkeys, and I do not have the unlimited good cheer I wish I had. I will refuse to let them steal my cheer.

[Mj]

What a great post. Thank you. I just came back from the beach (I live on an island off of New England) where we had a celebration at sundown of the end of the dark days, the return of light and shared our hopes for the winter and the coming year. There were four adults (certainly wouldn't consider any of us grownups with our tambourines, bells and sticks...oh, can't forget the concertina..) and ten teenagers. We lit a fire, faced the ocean, called a simple circle and the four directions and burned lavender. The cap on this day for me was reading your post..connecting to something, someone else off the island, out of my realm. Blessed Be.

[amysue]

What an amazingly beautiful post Cate. On this longest night I hope that you and your family welcome the light at it's end together and have a year of health, happiness and peace!

[Karen]

Thank you, Cate. This was my first visit to your blog and I have to say, an inspiration and a joy. My dear one and I sat down a few years ago when I was pregnant with our son and really discussed what it was that we wanted from our holidays. Most notable was Yule, because it has such a high profile and because, as a result, we both had high emotional memories of it (as children of secular-Christian households). We now celebrate our 12 days of Yuletide beginning on the 15th and ending on the 27th (a defined time period means we are more likely to stay conscious of the present and the meanings of the holiday) with a holiday party of silliness (warmth in the cold) and used books as our gifts to a small group of friends. We light candles and decorate the tree and spend as much time as possible just being together. Our baby turned 2 this month and there is nothing like hearing him call "Merry Yule! Happy Solstice!" to his neighbors as we walk down the street at night, saying goodnight to the stars... a warm sweater on a happy baby, a light in the window when we come home again. This is joy.

[S.Kate]

********
.....^.....* Merry Solstice,
....(0)....* Cate.
..|===|..* To Light -
..|===|..* To Warmth -
..|===|..* To Understanding.
*********

[susan]

That was just so fine and beautiful. I wept and vowed to make this moment, and every moment for myself and my family, sacred. Thank you very much.

[Amy]

Lovely Cate, this may be my favorite day of the year, a day I can really get into celebrating. Today is the day where I am filled with wonder and hope, because tomorrow will be just a bit lighter, and the day after that even more so. The earth keeps spinning, just like it should.

[Barb]

Good Yule, Cate! Thanks for the lovely reminder of hope against the darkness.

[Rosemary]

Joyous Solstice Cate! And thank you.

Like many others, I intend to be less greedy and take better care of myself through exercise and slowing down. To whit--I am leaving the TV off tonight, knitting with carols playing, and watching my candle burn.

[Beth]

I've had my candle lit most of the day at work, and lit one on my desk as soon as I got home.

It's strange being the weird amalgam of religions that I am -- not really Christian, not Wiccan, probably a little more close to the Native American idea of the Great Spirit. I don't have set traditions mandated by one faith. So I light candles on Samhain for loved ones who have passed, and I light a candle for the Solstice. I pray for the Creator to comfort those in distress, and I sing "How Great Thou Art" when I'm happy. It works for me, even if it doesn't work for my ultra-born-again father.

My intentions for the coming light:

* Find the beauty in each day, even the gray drizzly ones.

* Remember that I have an abundance of blessings, and to share that abundance with those who don't.

* Practice patience and tolerance, and be the calm voice that dispels discord.

Thanks for such a thoughtful, beautifully-worded post. I'll be bookmarking this one to return to as the new year passes.

[Gina]

Thank you so much for this post. You have expressed my feelings, and those of so many others, very eloquently. Today, I turned off the lights in my classroom and watched the sunrise with my students. We sat quietly enjoying the touch of light on the clouds, watching the play of colour as it moved from a bare red glimmer, to orange and fuscia painted across the sky, then to gold and silver and pure new light. Every year the Solstice makes me pause and think of the role of light in my life. The light of love given and returned, the light of spirit filling me and mine, the light of generousity and understanding and kindness. These are the prayers of my heart as I light my Solstice candle. I will sit quietly in gratitude for the blessings of the light in my life and reach out for the strength to share that light with others. Blessed Solstice.