A dusting of snow. A couple of 18 degree mornings. Cold winds from the North. Winter made an appearance in Maine this week and will soon be here to stay, until May. Mainers possess grit and a love for a good strong season. We revel in talking up the hardships of winter, but mostly, we are secretly proud to weather the harsh elements that most folks on the planet would run from. Although I wasn’t born here, I should have been, and native folks have been most surprised to learn I’m actually a Jersey girl transplant who’s lived in Maine for 17 years. “You don’t seem like your from away. You don’t act like it. You really weren’t born here? I know a bunch of Tuttles. Are you related to them?” That’s a huge compliment, as Mainers take great pride in their heritage and can sometimes be leery of outsiders. I’m definitely a Mainer in my heart and my husband and I have put down sturdy roots here, settling into our home quite comfortably, raising little Mainah kiddos of our own, weaving our lives into the colorful, down-to-earth tapestry of the small-town, neighborly community that we have grown to love and feel a part of. That is what home means to us.
A Maine winter’s lack of sun and bone-shaking cold is not for the faint of heart, but there are things one can do to feel toasty and happy when the temperatures dip into the single digits and far below the zero mark. A wood stove is a necessity. It becomes the center of one’s home; an incandescence that warms to the bone and provides a heat experience like no other. It is one of my favorite bodily sensations, plus I never tire of making trips to the wood pile, watching my breath manifest into curls and ribbons of smoke in the bitter air, hauling the logs, filling the stove; the process feels authentic, ancient, and meditative, not to mention it gets the blood going. Mug after mug of steaming hot tea; my stash takes up one whole shelf in the pantry and in winter I gravitate towards spicy flavors of cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, and cloves, mellowed by vanilla and orange tones. I indulge in my favorite black tea, Lapsang Souchong, which has a rich, smoky aroma and taste, that perfectly compliments the fragrance of winter air. A basket of cozy blankets. Oversized wool sweaters and thick socks. Candles (my soy-based candles are scented with essential oils that smell good and make me feel good, like pine, juicy berries, sugary vanilla, and warm gingerbread). Books. Serious outdoor clothing (dress as if you are going to climb Denali and you’ll be all set). Cooking farm-to-table meals with root vegetables from our CSA. Mulled wine. Intimate, slow-food dinner parties with friends (I love the way their eyes glow in the soft light of the candles placed in the center of the table). Making music together. Watching artsy films. Letter-writing to my kindred sisters; one in Canada, the other in Sweden. Putting up twinkling lights. Marveling at the sparkling snow, bathed in silvery moonrays.
Over the years I have learned that winter can be even more than these hardy, joyful sensual experiences, and this is why, deep down, I love it so…
Strong winter has helped me to feel more connected to my soul and the natural cycles and rhythms of life. The darkness and the cold invites quiet, rest, and reflection, and provides a gift; a time to retreat inward into the shadows of the soul; as unsettling as a pathway into a dark forest and as comforting as the waters of the womb. There cannot be light without shadow, nor shadow without light. Each one holds something unique and each one holds the other. This intimate journey into the interior, into the sweet darkness of the soul is full of mystery and magic and the unknown; the familiar turns enigmatic, into a loosely spun web of marks, that over time (if you allow yourself to dwell and rest in this cavern long enough) begin to take on new shapes and forms, giving birth to dreams, desires, new ideas, and truths, as we slowly find our way and tend the embers of inner light, patiently stoking them, until one day, they transform into a full-on, unrestrained blazing soulfire.
Yes! A big YES!
Dwelling in this inner sacred space is ultimately a welcoming experience for me. A coming home. I must invite and initiate myself into this place… through letting go, surrendering and giving in to the magnetic pull of the natural cycle, trusting, slowing down, sitting still, hearkening to the messages, and staying present; meditating. Setting intentions. Being okay with leaning into groundlessness, and experiencing the heavy weight of uncomfortable feelings, which gradually gives way to something healing, buoyant, and soul-strong. I draw upon tools that help to take me inward, and invite me to stay a while, exploring, uncovering, unearthing, evolving… Burning incense. Lighting candles. Handling crystals from my ever-growing, sparkling collection. Wrapping myself in a blanket. Playing Sonic Yogi music. Making art. Writing, stream-of-consciousness style, in my fat leather journal, allowing the collective wisdoms and teachings of the Universe to pour onto the parchment.
As the new season arrives, I can feel my body and soul being piqued by the fresh, wintry beginnings that will eventually lull me into a state of hibernation, into the creative void, like a wild animal succumbing to its natural state of being. Into the darkness to rest and be still, but also, because I am human, to discover more about this inner landscape where the potential for self-discovery, new beginnings, renewal, and evolving dwells.
Deep Love.
How might you allow the winter season to guide you in turning inward, to connect with the flow of the deep-river quiet waters of your soul?
Bisous. Love, In Light,
Susan