"Homage to winter's night."

All our solstices.

Through a dark window. Norfolk, CT. (photo by Cara)

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." —Carl Jung

DECEMBER 21, 5:02 AM—A curious thing about recovering from long illness has been my inability to remember so much that passed. A friend recently reminded me of something I’d shared from that very bleak time: During sleepless nights, to distract myself from pain, I took to rhythmically banging my head against the wooden headboard. In those years I rarely dreamed, sleep being elusive and fitful—when it came. Night was a torment.

This is deeply personal, and remembering is hard. Yet I know I am not alone. Anyone reading this will have a story to tell—each one unique and familiar all at once. Everyone has his or her night. I honor them all.

With winter solstice upon us, I find myself reconsidering the night because it is in the dark that healing and all things creative begin. In the dark we can best hear the beating of our hearts. We know ourselves most completely and are most human when we’ve journeyed in the dark. In that journey, with all of its struggles, confusion, and fear, we bring forth the light that is within. It is our solstice.

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Homage to my nights.

I have known nights, soft and gentle filled with the music of crickets or the whisper of falling snow. Warm nights lying naked in cool cotton sheets. Bitter nights burrowed deeply beneath heavy woolen blankets.

I have had wakeful nights. Worrying nights. Sleepy, dreamy, delightful nights. There have been passionate nights. Exquisite nights. Nights alight with blazing stars dizzying to behold.

I have known stoned nights. Drunken nights. Lonely nights. Howling, raging anguished nights. Pain-filled nights. Nightmare nights. Sick sweat-drenched nights.

There have been many luminous full moon nights laced with shadows, aglow with light.

Homage to the night.