What the holy time offers

In my little cabin in the woods I have a walk-in closet. I always keep my living room tidy. It gives me peace, for I find it hard to work in a mess. The current state of my closet, however, is pure chaos. It is the place where I stash everything I do not want to deal with right now. Dirty laundry, things that still need to go somewhere, items requiring maintenance. I am not proud of it, but the closet has a door and that door I can shut.

I think we all have a closet like that in our lives. Now, right before the beginning of the most formative period of the year, close the door to that closet. Put a full stop to unfinished matters, or perhaps a semicolon. Allow yourself to temporarily stop what you are engaged in, releasing yourself from your own and others’ expectations, except for the truly, truly essential.

The period after the solstice, and in particular the holy nights between Christmas and Epiphany, you spend in emptiness. In silence, the inspiration for the coming year will find you. You have the chance now to determine again who you will be and where you are going. You do not determine this with your mind, you allow it to visit you. Inspiration is given to you by the spirit, the muse, the wisdom, the soul—she has many names. The only thing she requires is your devotion to listen to her in the silence.

Keeping silence is work

Doing nothing and listening sounds simple, but it is not. A commitment to emptiness confronts us. When we have been running all year, it feels unfamiliar to suddenly come to a halt. Even with the best intentions we will distract ourselves. For example by using up our precious empty time for matters we do not get to in the rush of daily life, but which still need doing. Confronted with an empty schedule I tend to feel an unusual enthusiasm to do my admin. I feel the urge to do something useful with my time. Giving in gives me a pleasant and satisfied feeling for a moment, but by now I recognise my own strategies to avoid the emptiness, and the accompanying boredom.

Moreover, the silence stands at odds with expectations around the holidays. Expectations from others, but also from ourselves, about how things should be; how cosy our Christmas must be and how spectacular our New Year’s Eve. That tension returns to my life every year, but over the years I have come to protect the holy nights, because I know from experience how important they are.

Allowing the emptiness is easier when you do things that serve no direct purpose. Activities that are not about getting better at something and pair well with the silence. For myself that can be an afternoon of drawing or painting, for I am not particularly good at it and have no ambition for it either. Decide for yourself what you enjoy doing, yet never find important enough to dedicate yourself to, and then do precisely that.