Andrea/Cara here, musing about light and dark, both physical and metaphorically. I just read a very thoughtful piece in the New York Times on the phenomena we call the Solstice (you can read it here.) Tomorrow is the Solstice—the word derives from Latin and means the sun stands still—and for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere it means the year’s longest night, while for those of you in the Southern Hemisphere it’s the opposite. The author of the opinion piece muses on the physics of the our tilted Earth and how its yearly journey around the Sun affects the angles and quality of light that touch each of us.
While many of us up north shudder at the thought of the longest night, he finds something poetic about this particular day. As his astronomy professor once explained to him, the Sun migrates from one point to another, pauses, then begins the reverse. And he really likes that idea of “pause” and sees it as a contemplative moment, rather than a fearful one—a chance to stop for a moment and reflect before things go back in motion.
In this fast-paced, frenetic world, the idea of pause is, to me a nice one. Like for him darkness has never been inherently frightening to me. I actually love the night, and those wondrous evenings when the heavens are clear and sparkling with myriad stars and whatever shape the Moon is in. For me, a nighttime walk to view the moon in its splendor is always something I enjoy. It makes me appreciative of Nature and the patterns of the cosmos—perhaps because there’s little clutter to distract from the elemental beauty of our clockwork universe. It’s both humbling—and sometimes comforting—that there is a force greater than the ones we mortals create. And indoors, I occasionally enjoy sitting with just a candle or small kerosene light in a dark room, reading or writing or taking a quiet moment. I find it peaceful, not unsettling.
T 
he other point touched on by the article was that darkness—so often cast as frightening and threatening—is also something that brings people together. Think about it—night encourages us to gather around the proverbial fire with family and friends. It’s often a festive time. We feel warm and cozy surrounded by others, sharing a sense of connection.
Maybe there's something about darkness that makes us more aware that it's easier to face fears or uncertainty when we're not alone.
For eons—quite likely ever since human first comprehended the rhythm of the seasons—the winter solstice has been a time of rituals to coax the Sun to return. In nearly every culture and religion, they revolve around the concept of rebirth and renewal. These days, we do seem to use the winter solstice as a time to stop and think about where we’ve been and contemplate making a fresh start in the coming year. (Oh, those New Year’s resolutions!) Again, not a bad thing. Most of us don’t spend enough time reflecting on what’s really meaningful in life, and how we can best focus on those things, rather than all the noise around us.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I love the sunlight, and my favorite time of year is summer, when I can be outdoors savoring the long twilights and watching the subtle changes of color in the sky for hours before darkness descends. But I also appreciate the long nights of winter, and the moments of sitting by the fire with a book or just my own thoughts. Like anything, balance is important —experiencing Light and Darkness gives me an appreciation of them both.
What about you? Do you dislike the dark? Do you find short winter days and long nights unsettling? Or do you find pleasure in both the Sun and the Moon?
