Winter Solstice Musings: Howling in the Darkness
“You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can't, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world... The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even but a millimeter the way people look at reality, then you can change it.”
– James Baldwin
When the world is so full of woe, it feels useless to write about the things I love. What good is folklore and my lyrical waxings of nature when wars rage across the globe, when the violence of politics, bombs and guns decimate, when so many of the ills of man prevail, when even those nearest to us must face their own dark times alone? What is the point of it all? When helplessness and hopelessness rule the day, what is the point?
At times like this I like to escape, after all, it is a privilege I have. To open my front door and leave behind my worries if only for a short while. And not always to my beloved woods, either. Sometimes it is enough to step outside my door and feel the cool winter air on my face. This evening is such a time, my dog, as ever, my loyal companion. I’ve written before about the lessons we learn from dogs, about being in the present and finding the small treasures that come from simply being in the moment. And so off we set to the playing field at the back of the estate where I live. It feels abandoned, and not only because the gathering gloom chases people indoors to the cosiness of warm homes. This space will soon cease to be as it is now, destined to be concreted over and built upon by the local council. But still, there is a sense of wildness here for those willing to seek it out. As shaped by human hands as it undoubtedly is and snuggled between the housing estate and the town’s industrial estate, wildness untamed clings to the edges.
It’s not late, but the gloom of the late afternoon deepens. The morning star, or rather the evening star, Venus, is like a diamond shining bright, rising in the deepening darkness of the sky, even as the horizon is splashed with a fabulous orange light. The contrast is striking. The trees and buildings are but black outlines on the horizon, backlit by the spectacular sunset, or at least the last of it. Blackbirds call out their alarm calls as they begin to roost for the night and my dog pulls in the direction of the rabbits that have conquered the undulating ground in the far corner, no doubt his world ablaze with the scents of the onset of the evening, carried on the air to tease and delight. The breeze is cool but not yet cold, and is fresh on my skin, and after a day cooped up in the classroom, feels delicious. This space is like a buffer, a place where I can leave behind the pressures of life, if only for a while, and gives me space to sit with my body and feelings.
At school, I’ve been doing a lot of mindfulness. I have a boss who actually cares about the wellbeing of staff and who has invested a lot, some of this in the aforementioned mindfulness. I must admit, I was somewhat cynical. I worked for years in retail and was there when mindfulness became something of a marketing buzzword (so much of my cynicism comes from my time in retail). I remember, with a groan, the hundreds of mindfulness marketed products. Chuck the word ‘mindfulness’ in front of anything and there you have it…from colouring books to puzzle books and jigsaws. I don't think there’s anything I haven't seen! But to say I’ve been pleasantly surprised by work's latest offering is an understatement. To make space and time to notice how we feel within ourselves, without questioning or seeking to untangle, feels like such a momentous thing, almost an act of rebellion, especially when we are all so busy and especially at this time of year when the festive season might force us to spend more than we wish and to be more public facing than we might want. And this is what this moment feels like, here on the field in the dark of a winter’s afternoon. This is what nature feels like to me, a moment to be mindful of myself and recognise how I’ve been holding myself in the world.
Here in the darkness of a winter evening, walking along the edges of the field, it gives me space and time to decompress from the weight of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll return home and things will be as they were when I left, the state of the world will remain unchanged. But I am changed, able to breathe a little easier, reconnected with my body and my mind. Able to come back and write these very words where before the blank page loomed large.
The wild world can be so many things to us, a space to remember who we are, a chance to feel whatever it is we feel, free from judgement or from having to explain or think. It allows us to gather ourselves and hold ourselves with care. It is also a delight and muse for art and words to pour forth from one person's mind to another, an inspiration and hope for when we feel powerless. It reminds us to sharpen our claws and to become wild ourselves. As winter sets in and we turn towards the longest night, let us find ourselves in the darkness and howl with the wildness of the land, a soul song for our kindred, for who knows who and what you might inspire within others in the fertile darkness of the winter solstice.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.