Falling away from time

It has been eighteen weeks since I wrote my last letter; I make a leap from late summer to the heart of winter. A leap from a sunny afternoon to the dark night.

The approaching winter solstice marks an important moment in the year as we move away from the darkness back into the light. In the holy period that follows the solstice, we briefly fall outside of time, floating between an old and a new reality. When we dare to let in the emptiness, winter may tell us where we are going. And precisely that is the hardest thing for us.

It does not matter how many times I have consciously moved through winter. Every year I am overcome by the same troubled feeling that nothing truly moves me. Every outward movement comes from pure will, nothing feels effortless and during a dark night it feels as if it will always remain that way.

The future is still unknown and therefore sometimes a bit frightening. I am tempted to fill the void, to sit out the holy time and to distract myself with meaningless pastimes. To hope for the fresh energy of Spring and to forget the murky days as quickly as possible. But then I overlook the unloved treasure of winter.

The period between Christmas and Epiphany is known as the twelve holy nights. During the nights I get the chance to rediscover my essence. What really matters. The invitation is always open. The essential does not impose itself, unlike everything else that tries to capture my attention.

In the coming period I will find myself in the pause after the exhalation. The moment between death and life from which I am reborn. The twelve nights are the gateway to the source of my inspiration. Here a new vision is created and I bridge the gap between dream and reality.

The twelve letters

Two years ago, my partner and I wrote twelve letters. Those who participated in the holy nights received a letter every day. We consciously experienced the holy time together, regardless of the plans we had already made.

This year I received many questions about the letters. Inspired by the responses, the time felt ripe to write new letters and to record accompanying meditations. A second iteration, which allows me to refine and sharpen the journey of the twelve nights.

The letters are a guide for the holy time and bring you into contact with the source of your inspiration. In line with nature, you work on fertile soil in which new ideas will germinate. We also make peace with winter, so that we may make good use of its remainder.

If you decide to participate, you will receive a contemplative letter in your mail every evening from Christmas (25 December) to Epiphany (6 January). In the letters you are invited to reflect on one of the twelve themes that together shape the journey from your old to your new self. With each letter you will receive an accompanying meditation and an assignment. These assignments will work through your daily life, also beyond the twelve nights.

The contribution for the letters is €33 for yourself and €49 if you want to give the letters as a gift to yourself and someone else. I hope to once again go on this journey with you.