Attending to Light and Darkness

A Grounding Practice

Solstice sunrise, December 22, 2022

Welcome to the first piece in this new publication, “Coming to Ground.” This is a space where we’ll explore and re-member ourselves as Earth dwellers, fellow creatures who are finding our way back to ground.

This is meant to be a healing, restorative space, a place to explore notions of ourselves as ecological creatures—a part of, not separate from the rest of the life and natural processes on Earth. An antidote for the immense fracture of much of humanity from the web of interrelational being on this planet.

This first installment contains a simple and timely invitation to practice deeper observation of changing light and darkness as we near the winter solstice.

Thank you for being here.

This Season

We lit our first candle of Advent on Sunday night, December 3. The windows in our dining room were portraits of night at 5:30 pm. As we kindled the first flame in our darkened room and read a poem/prayer* about shadows and life, the candle light shone warm and bright.

The span of time between twilight and dawn is noticeably lengthening here in southeast Michigan, where I live. People in the far north, within the Arctic Circle, are living with 24 hours of night until mid-January. The winter solstice, which signifies the occurrence of the longest night of the year, happens in my location on December 21 at 10:27pm. That night we’ll experience 15 hours of darkness.

In contrast, at summer solstice—the longest day—we bustle about with a surplus abundance of sunlight warming our days as the sun rises in the wee hours and sets late at night, for a total of 15 and a quarter hours of light. Night is short and in the summer of the northern polar regions it retreats entirely as life is energized by 24 hours of daylight for a couple of months.

The rituals and traditions that have grown in human cultures in the north surrounding the winter solstice are intimately connected with the increase of night. In a time of growing darkness, we bring the fire and heat we’re missing from the sun into our homes: with candlelight, an extra log on the fire, and the comforting warmth found in the presence of loved ones gathered together to feast. We wait for the light to grow, reminding each other with our rituals that it will grow. And until it does, it is held and remembered within and among us.

Traditionally, our ancestors felt called to share whatever plenty they could manage to offer together in community. They sought to prepare a place for and contribute to a presence of comfort and joy, sharing what they could in a fallow and frigid time. Storytelling, hilarity, and singing helped to lift our spirits and connect to one another. These traditions grew out of our shared experiences of cold and darkness. They rose out of a desire to help each other through it and to quell fears. They’re also examples of our universal human orientation toward wonder and awe, care and connection, attentiveness and a search for meaning.

A Simple Grounding Practice

We are all inhabitants of Earth—earthlings—this is an obvious fact, but I feel it’s important to intentionally call that to mind and practice ways to settle ourselves within that reality. Many of us in the contemporary world live with little thought about our creaturely nature. This arises both out of conditions of privilege and a kind of cultural impoverishment that has increased in large part with the growth of consumerism and all the historical and political underpinnings of it. When we forget that our lives are literally dependent upon natural processes and interdependencies with other creatures, and we go about our days as if we are in control, we’re missing a truth and wealth that is far greater than any amount of money or things can ever provide.

At one time, our ancestors shared an intimate relationship with their natural surroundings that included seasonal connectedness and facing the long darkness together. This was not all peaceful and wonderful—there was plenty of hardship. But also, a kind of surplus of meaning and connection, and a plentitude of belonging. These are aspects of life that seem to be in short supply in these times.

So, I invite you to try one very simple practice in this winter season (and beyond!) that may also enhance any wonder that you may already be tending to, such as observing Advent, celebrating Hanukkah, or other seasonal traditions. This practice will only add a few quiet moments to your day and won’t require any money or extra supplies—unless you want a piece of paper and something to write with.

Simply take a few moments now and then to attend to the length and quality of darkness, and the movement of the sun through your days, in the world outside of your built environment. This can be as simple as being in the same place each day at sunrise or sunset and noticing where the sun is. Or noting the time each day when full darkness falls. The more intentional you are about your observing, the more qualities and patterns of change you will notice. For those who journal or who like to make notes, you might consider keeping track of your observations and thoughts about it. It’s fun to go back and compare your observations. (For those who might like more detailed directions, I added two suggestions at the bottom of this post.)

Share this practice with others. It’s a good way to both connect with one another and with the beautiful and interesting dynamics of our world. Talk about what you are noticing. If you have kids at home this is fun thing to do together.

There are many ways we can awaken to the reality that we are small creatures on a finite and beautiful planet. This practice is one little possibility for connecting with the wonders that are taking place all the time around us that are often taken for granted.

It’s good to recognize our smallness and our needs for connection at a time when night is growing around us. Many blessings and much warmth to you in this time of generous night. Keep your inner lamp lit and the hearth warm, and be sure to also look up at the stars on a clear December night.

Please share your thoughts in the comments. I would also love to hear from any of you who engage with this practice!
And check out the resources below . . .

Two guiding suggestions for practice (pick one or do both):

• Last Light, First Light:  Watch the darkness rise at day’s end after the sunset, and watch it fade into light as the dawn breaks. How long does it take for night to fill the sky? For the darkness to fade fully? Keep track of the moon and what happens with it. Does it always come up in the same place and similar time? What does it look like. What do you wonder about as you watch these changes?

• Sunrise, Sunset: Look at where the sun is rising and setting, from the same location each day. If taking notes, record the time, date and directional location of the sun each time (your phone probably has a compass). Some people sketch the permanent features of the view before you (the window frame or the house and trees across the street . . .) and then show with an x and the date/time where the sun first rose or set. You can keep recording each day on the same drawing. What do you notice happening? What do you wonder about?

Resources:

• See where you are on the Earth: Find your latitude.

• Here is an interesting site that shows human population at each latitude with interesting graphics

• For more information about why seasons change and how that varies based on location see this NWS/NOAA page: The Seasons (Equinoxes and Solstices)

• Use this online tool, Time and Date, to find out exactly when Solstice is occuring in your place on Earth and for other links to understand just what the “solstice” is and why we have seasons. For a comparison of the length of days by latitude see the US Naval Observatory’s

*Some Advent companion books we’ve found: Geez Magazine’s 2023 Advent companion: Prayers for the End of the World: Daily Prayers for Advent. Geez publishes a themed Advent companion book each year, soliciting contributions of poetry and art.
Another wonderful Advent companion—especially if you have children, is All Creation Waits, by Gayle Boss. It is a really lovely collection of short pieces, one for each day of Advent, that focuses on the details of the lives of creatures in the wild at this time of year. This book is also graced with beautifully detailed, black and white illustrations of each animal by the artist David G. Klein.

All photos copyright Michelle Berry Lane, 2023