The Great Stillness
We needed a change of scenery after so much isolation. For nine months, my husband and I hadn’t gone further than my nephew’s house, two hours away, on a day trip to pick blueberries. Late this year, when it was our turn at our shared beach condo, we were more than ready to go.
Arriving after a four-hour drive, we unloaded the car, bringing our luggage and supplies upstairs to the eighth floor. Inside the condo, my first order of business was to pull back the curtains and slide open the balcony doors to view the ocean. Low tide, late afternoon, with temperatures in the high 60s, I quickly unpacked, and headed down to the beach. Crossing the sugary sand to the edge of the ocean, I slipped off my shoes and stood in the water, breathing in the fresh salt spray, mesmerized by view, the gentle waves. I walked a quarter mile down the beach, stopping at the wide sluice to watch the sunset, and it was there I began to notice an inner quietude, the stresses of the year sliding off my shoulders. For me, for many of us, the beach is a place of healing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about thresholds lately, thresholds as middle places, as the boundary between two things, like the edge of the beach.
In literature, examples of famous thresholds are Platform 9 ¾, where young witches and wizards cross from the world of muggles to the wizarding world of Hogwarts; or, in fairy tales, a ring of mushrooms called a “fairy circle,” signifies the threshold where humans can enter the fairy world; or, the looking glass in Through the Looking Glass is the threshold where Alice passes into a fantastical world where everything is reversed. In story, thresholds are points where decisions are contemplated and made, where changes begin. Often, they are the first test on the hero or heroine’s journey, where the challenge to move forward is accepted or not.
Most of us would agree that the year 2020 “stink, stank, stunk,” to quote Mr. Grinch. It’s certainly been a threshold year, a boundary between the way things were and the way things will be. It’s been a year of being in-between, in limbo, on hold. It’s been a painful year for many, a year of devastating loss. This year, we’ve pared down, cleaned out, and we’ve decided what we can and can’t do without. We’ve had to find innovative ways to connect, to educate, and to do business. Some will be lasting; some will fall away. My brother, who works for a tech company, tells me this year will change the way they do business going forward.
Today, we are on the brink of another collective threshold. The Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere begins at 5:02 am EST December 21st, the shortest day of the year. The solstice happens at one specific moment—when the north pole has its maximum tilt away from the sun. It’s been called the extreme of winter and the day where dark trumps light. From the Latin, sol means “the sun” and sistere means “to make stand still.” The Winter Solstice is the day the sun stands still, or the great stillness.
From ancient times, people have honored the Winter Solstice in celebrations and rituals—feasts and dancing and story-telling. In sacred places like New Grange and Stonehenge, people show up to watch the passage of light through the chambers or stones. Modern rituals include holding a candle-lighting ceremony, or a fire-releasing ceremony, writing down the things you wish to be rid of and tossing them into a fire. (2020 perhaps?!) Another ritual is to turn off all our devices for some period of time, embracing the darkness as a time of self-reflection, a time to let go of the old and set intentions for the coming year.
Though it’s the shortest day and longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice also marks a turning point, a moment when one cycle ends and another begins, where the coming days begin to lengthen and lighten. It’s no coincidence that the rebirth of the sun coincides with the birth of the Son, the Christmas season, the season of hope, the season of light.
As we come to this collective threshold, may it be a time of healing for the world, and may we take comfort in knowing brighter days are ahead.