I’ve been moving super slow in the mornings these darker days.
Feeling the chill of the ground in my bones - the tempering energy in the trees, the soil, and even the bundled up souls walking their dogs, bleary eyed, in the early morning light past my bedroom window.
I stay in bed well past my alarm, often padding into the kitchen to heat up some water and come right back to bed with a steaming mug to snuggle back in with my pillow covered beloved and kitties snoring whisper soft on their backs with the paws hiding their eyes from the daylight slowing fading in behind the curtained windows.
Winter’s rest is calling us home.
A man oh man, have we got a world full of weary, tender hearts to tend to this winter.
The heaviness of this season is more cumbersome than usual. The visceral pain so many of us are feeling hangs over us like thick, grey clouds just begging to burst into a furor of thunder and sleet.
I attended a concert last week, where the whole room felt so unsure of how to feel and act. Such pain and anger wafted through the air, and more than anything, I could feel our collective desire for release, rest, and joy.
These are deeply uncertain times, sister.
When you are moving between frustration, sadness, motivation to act, and exhaustion, it can be hard to carve out a space for joy as well. Add in the fact that the holidays came very quickly this go around the sun and the idea of giving up and going numb is very tempting.
But I want to tell you something.
I need your joy.
We all need each other’s joy. It’s a permission slip to remember the beauty of this moment in time.
That we are approaching the solstice (the darkest night of the year) and that, for thousands of years, we have gathered together to remember the light - that dawn will come again and we will cycle through another year of rebirth, blossoming, harvest, and death.
We all must do our part to bring the joy back.
So I start with me. I slowly and silently slip my tea. I slip on my coziest sweater. I stare into the flames of the fire. I gather with loved ones. I laugh at the jokes. And I take it
Photo credit: Rosa Delgado
Pin It For Later:
Join our community of curiousand brave-hearted women and femmes + weekly-ish wisdom to your inbox
Say yes, even if you're worried you won't fit in. I'll send you weekly-ish emails about our longing to belong, living with the seasons, and connecting with ancestors to enjoy with your morning warm beverage.