Wintering: Centering Truth and a Call Toward Stillness

Five end of the year reflections, in no particular order

This year has been one of reflection, heightened awareness, and lifechanging transformation. Six months since the loss of my grandmother, and I still think about the ins and outs of the ceremony we call death. One that, despite the surest, most inevitable aspect of life, is something you’re never truly prepared for. My partner and I shouldering responsibilities to ensure Grandma had the most peaceful ascension. My family and I still immersed in the tedious aftermath as we aid in my grandfather’s transition from married to widower. Our first holiday season without her, and without my partner’s grandfather.

I. On Winter and Death: Seasons of Change

Having officially entered the winter solstice a few days ago, I think about the lessons of and parallels between death and winter. Both rites of passage that force us to slow down, center stillness, and grapple with some of the darkest of hours. Both ceremonies in their own right that remind us of the cyclical existence of nature. For birth cannot exist without death, and summer cannot exist without winter (at least in the Northern Hemisphere). Both seasons, death and winter, lead us toward moments of introspection, where we shed parts of our Selves so that we can blossom anew, stronger and fresher than before.

I think of the cold of winter’s air, and am brought back to that emergency room, bay 22, where I was caught by surprise at the coldness when stoking Grandma’s forehead.

Death and Winter are some of our greatest teachers: moments of reflection and gratitude, mourning the fragility that is life. Yet, as winter and death are often reduced to embodiments of dormancy, both are also signs of promise. Of new life that will emerge next season. Of the beauty of birth—for every seedling is an ancestor returned.

II. End of the Year Reflections: A Call Toward W i n d i n g D o w n

While I feel that springtime is more reflective of a new year—for soils begin to soften and life begins to grow—winter is its own rite of passage. A portal between the end and beginning of our calendrical years. A sacred passageway marked by the light at the end of the tunnel. A time characterized by its stillness and silence, winter’s medicine asks us to allow our nervous systems to decompress. To find the beauty in the small things, and in the most silent of moments. Winter calls us to go inward and unwind. Winter asks us to be tender with ourselves, romanticize, and find the intimacy in each part of life, like the enveloping warmth of the first sip of a morning cafecito or té.

Winter provides us an opportunity to take control of our lives by emancipating ourselves from the notion of productivity. That we need to do something. Anything. An elder with profound knowledge, Winter’s medicine wants us to keep our schedules empty in order to find the ceremony in the most mundane, and give thanks for the things we seem to take for granted. Like having dirty dishes to wash, and floors to sweep, and beds to make. And that, I think, is a radically transformative act of love.

III. An Invitation Toward Reciprocity and Revillaging

As we naturally follow the ways of our four-legged relatives and adopt (our version of) hibernation, Winter suggests that we use the end of the calendrical year as a time to restructure our communities. Aside from snowboarding and family visits, living in the North East, there are fewer things I want to do than go outside unnecessarily. In the Spring and Summer time, and even on those beautiful days in Autumn, we keep ourselves busy and stay out longer than our bodies (at times) are able to keep up with. We rage, live for the nights we won’t remember in detail, and make memories with friends…and with those whose names we don’t, and will never, be able to recall. These moments—those summer gatherings, late-night outings to bars, dancing with the girls—are vital to the maintenance of our Body-Mind-Soul-Spirit connection. Winter offers us a chance to recharge. To rest. Without needing explanation. Without being exhausted. The cold simply invites us to rest. To be at home—warmed by nourishing foods, cozied up under blankets and throws, and in the arms of our loved ones (or favorite books).

In these days of fleeting sunlight and near-freezing temperatures, I find that Winter’s medicine wants us to focus on who we’re allowing in our lives by forcing us to ask ourselves questions that we can easily stray from in the middle of “being-outside” all year long. Who and what deserves my time? Who deserves access to me? Who waters me, and who doesn’t? My personal truth is that we all spend too much time allowing people into our lives that don’t deserve to be there. Maybe we feel bad to erect boundaries. Maybe we’ve become so accustomed to quantity over quality. Maybe we’ve yet to exist in healthy relations to our relations, so we wouldn’t even recognize proper care if we saw it. I don’t know. What I do hold to be true is that this is a time to purge—the things you don’t need, the people who don’t serve your highest purpose—in order to create space for what you are deserving of. Our systems of care and support moving forward should be restructured with a foundation of reciprocity (more on this later).

IV. Kawô y Atotô: Honoring the Medicine of Changó and Asojano

For Lucumí, December is a month in which we celebrate the feast days of Changó and Babalú Ayé/Asojano. I’ve been ruminating on what it means to end our year honoring figures that are manifestations of strength and catalysts for change. Orisha are deities, but they too are embodiments of the medicines bestowed to us by the natural world. Yemayá doesn’t live in ocean, She is the ocean; Ochún doesn’t live in sweet waters, She is sweet waters, and so on. With his lightning bolt and double-headed axe, Changó rides into battle on horseback ready to protect. Ready to act. Ready for war. He is strength and resistance; passion and heat; power and ferocity. Changó ignites the fire in all of us that inevitably leads to some radical change in our lives. Changó is the warmth in our bellies, working in tandem with Oyá, to ensure that our voices don’t crack as we make our needs, dreams, and desires be heard. Changó is the driver of change that helps us speak truth to power.

Known by many names, Babalú is the deity whose medicine we call on when we are in poor health. We pray to Him for prosperity, wellbeing, and to heal all those who are suffering. Babalú is an Orisha that reminds us of the fragility of the human experience. Of the promise of decay that all of us will reach at some point in our lives. Of death, and winter. He also reminds us of how rich we are if we have our health. The wealth that comes with being able to not just live life, but to truly experience it. Ending the year with his feast day, Babalú invites us to take the reins on our health. To make better choices for our longevity. To put on our oxygen masks first, before helping othes.

Both Orisha want us to cut habits that no longer serve our higher purpose, and begin commit to setting boundaries. Changó’s medicine comes to our aid when we feel like we can’t handle it (life) alone. When our knees buckle and our eyes tear as we demand to be seen. While depending too much on this medicine can lead to debilitating arrogance or narcissism—as any practice in excess poses a potential danger—tapping into this medicine is one of the most important gifts we can give ourselves. Sometimes, you have to find the courage to speak up and out if you want (or need) things to change. Even if/when you’re made to be the enemy by those you’re erecting boundaries against.

Asojano inspires us to tap into all the medicines of the Natural World, for they are within our reach should we look for them. To never take our health for granted, for everything can change in an instant. As we enter the threshold of a new year, may we all leave behind the things, people, and situations that make us sick, and refocus that energy into our own journeys of healing. More limpias, more life. Remember that you are your best thing. Standing in your truth is a gift of compassion. Be unagreeable. Speak up, for your longevity. Water yourself, so you can water the collective.

V. Hail Mary: Re-Centering the Spirituality of Christmas, and The Power of Women

Finding ourselves in Christmastime, I’ve been thinking about this season as an invitation to consider our inherent strength as women. A power that is so potent, so powerful. This is the first year I’ve truly contemplated the spirituality of Christmas, and the power of Mary. A beacon of resilience, a force to be reckoned with, Mary migrated to Bethlehem, Palestine while pregnant, to have an unassisted, unmedicated (free, home)birth with the support of her partner and four-legged friends.

Mary, a woman, like many women, who defied the odds thrown her way. A woman, like many women, whose story is one of overcoming. A woman, like many women, symbolic of the lengths a mother goes to for her child/ren, even when she doesn’t “have much” in the material sense. A woman, like many women, whose unshakable faith got her through the tribulations of life. Thinking about Mary, Marian apparitions, and the many manifestations of the Divine Feminine, I think about the ways in which Christmas allows us to reframe the way we look at ourselves as women, and how we look at the women in our lives: with a heightened level of love, appreication, confidence, and empowerment. Mary, Marian apparitions, and the many manifestations of the Divine Feminine, are embodiments of radical transformation; sites that let us stand in gratitude for our capacity to change by adopting radical trust, surrendering to the natural processes of life, and tapping into our potential.

This start of winter has been one of transformation and re-imagining. Of re-membering of all facets of the Self. A kaleidoscopic look into the future I am committed to creating with the love, support, and trust of my partner, and those who choose to stand in and uphold the responsibility of reciprocity. It’s been quite the trip thus far, but with all the downloads from GUS (God-Universe-Spirit), I’m here for all parts of the journey: with open palms ready to receive all that is meant for me, our home, and generations past, present, and future.

Wintering, as in…

Prioritizing rest and rejuvenation.

A resetting of our nervous systems.

Committing to healing and pouring into ourselves, so that we can be our best thing.

Revillaging our communities through cultivating meaningful relationships rooted in reciprocity.

Uncovering practical pathways into inner spaces of humility and love.

Exploring all the ways in which we’re connected—to one another, to the land, to Earth—rather than sever our relations to our relations.

As in, nurturing the seeds that which we hope to sow throughout the year to come.

As in, surrender.

As we get ready for the inauguration of another 365 days, may we shed the idea that we must always be in motion, May we settle into the stillness. May we understand that we are enough. May we shed what no longer serves us. And may that create space for us to find the magic—everywhere, any time, in all things.