I love the feeling of having a “fresh start”, whether it’s a new month, a new season, or a new year. I also really love setting new intentions for myself, and having goals to work toward.
But with this year’s turning of the calendar from one year into the next, I’m very aware that in the cycles of nature here in the northern hemisphere, we are not yet into the time of new things even germinating, much less sprouting. Where I live, nature is deep in frozen sleep.
My impulse is to want to move through this season as quickly as I can, but there’s no rushing Mother Nature. My only choices are to resist the cold and the overcast days, or to surrender to the reality of this moment.
Dormancy is an important part of nature’s cycles. Whether it’s a field left fallow for a year, or the barren months of winter, nature demonstrates for us again and again how necessary the “nothing” times are for overall well being.
This isn’t a truth our industrialized culture is familiar with, much less welcomes. Productivity is the holy grail of capitalism. Machines are considered preferable to human employees because they don’t need rest and they never get sick.
This year’s winter season is inviting me to keep company with emptiness and dormancy. They’re not easy companions, but they’re teaching me about how deep my roots can reach for nourishment, and about the importance of trusting the cycles of life.
You see, there’s something about dormancy that feels like death. It feels like the end of the road, nothing happy after this. Yet, in almost sixty years of living, there has never been a year when spring didn’t come. In my part of the world, it might happen in early April or it might wait until late May. It might seem to be stirring for a week or two, and then regress into another period of frigid temperatures and accumulated snow.
Still, spring always comes.
That’s the truth that holds me steady in the dormant seasons of my inner life. Vitality does return.
The work for me is to not attach myself to the anticipation of things feeling “better”. My work is to allow myself to be in this moment of emptiness without trying to fix it, embellish it or change it. My invitation is to be a gentle caretaker of my own heart while I feel the grief, loneliness and struggle of this season.
When I simply accept my own experience in this place, I am often then surprised by the help that comes. A chat with a friend brings connection and laughter. My spiritual director affirms that this season is difficult and that my soul is growing through the struggle. A fragment of a song or a piece of writing brings comfort and encouragement. I am reminded of the beauty of sundogs and hoarfrost.
If you aren’t feeling the “new beginning” of this year, be assured you are not alone. Perhaps you’re more in tune with the cycle of nature than the page on the calendar. If you’d like soul companionship in this season, I’d love to hear from you.
