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.
Published on by Sacha Post. This essay is part of the weekly letters. Explore more essays on winter in the archives.