I have news for you: the stag bells
Winter snows, wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course
The sea running high
Deep red the bracken, its shape is lost
The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry
Cold has seized the birds wings
Season of ice
This is my news
(From a 9^th century Celtic bard)

When harpers once in wooden hall
A shining chord would strike
Their songs like arrows pierced the soul
Of great and low alike
Aglow by hearth and candle flame
From burning branch or ember
The mist of all their music sang
As if to ask in wonder
Is there a moment quite as keen
Or memory as bright
As light and fire and music sweet
To warm the winter’s night?

There is a great silence that blankets the world in midwinter.  Alone under a night sky punctuated with stars, we may be able to hear the whispers of ancestors gathering around bright fires, awaiting the return of the sun. Winter arrives in our marrow, our bodies remembering the old stories, another season of breath held tight. The damp air settles and trees exhale. The land seems to recognize and answer with its own slow rhythm. Winter happens from the ground up. Mycelium moves like a hidden tide beneath the duff. Tree roots press deeper into the dark. The soil stays warm in its inner chambers while the surface cools and gleams. The land teaches through pressure and stillness. Through the way light narrows between branches, through the weight of rain on the roof, and the hush that follows.

Sleep covers us like a blanket of snow. With it comes old stories that resound with unhurried steadiness. Winter seems to say, stay close to what is moving beneath the surface. Listen for the slow pulse under the thing trying to grab your attention. Healing follows the path of roots, not the path of urgency. The body, like the land, carries its own underworld. Old griefs can ferment into medicine. The heart begins to hear things it cannot hear in other seasons. The world moves to a different tempo. Rivers speak in muted currents. The wind carries crystalline messages. Animals walk ancient paths taken by instinct. Even the sunlight seems to have traveled through a longer, colder corridor to reach us. There is a wild intimacy here. Winter impresses us to connect with the deepest rhythms. Our bodies remember their old covenant with the land. A covenant of pacing and presence. A covenant that says everything alive must retreat to the innermost chamber so it can form again in the darkness.  

Mycelium reminds us how transformation works. Unseen. Patient. Working through what has fallen apart to feed what will come next. Winter carries this same alchemy. When we let ourselves sink into it, something in us loosens. Stories we have carried longer than needed begin to compost. New ones form in the soft dark. To winter well is to enter the underworld of the living world. The altar is made of frozen roots and breath clouds. The prayer is the ancient song that stirs when the boundary between skin and soil dissolves and we admit our bodies are earth in motion.

There is a blessing that captures the spirit of winter revelers the world over:

So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lit candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires
To keep the year alive,
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us — Listen!!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

Let us visit winter festivals celebrated around the world in days gone by. In Iran, Zoroastrians kept a fire burning through the night to assist the light forces of Ahura Mazda in its struggle against the darkness of Angra Mainyu. They feasted on delicious winter fruits and nuts like watermelon, pomegranate, and pistachios. In Ancient Rome, they celebrated Dies Natalis Invicti Solis, the Birthday of the Unconquered Sun, a celebration dedicated to the birth of the Persian god Mithras. Romans would exchange gifts, make wishes, and kiss under the mistletoe. In China, the Dongzhi or Winter Solstice Festival marks the shortest day of the year, focusing on family, warmth, and the return of longer days. Calorie-rich foods like sweet rice balls (tangyuan) are eaten in the south, while dumplings (jiaozi) are a treat for northern people. The ancient festival is rooted in astronomy and philosophy and celebrates the balance of yin and yang and hopes for a good harvest. It is an important time to gather with family marks a time of renewal and hope. 

In Sweden, Santa Lucia’s Day is a winter solstice celebration. Lucia girls wearing white robes tied with red sashes and crowns of candles would process through the streets singing Sankta Lucia (The Night Goes Heavily), a song that celebrated the light in winter darkness with themes of stars, joy, and bringing light. After church, parishioners would return home to feast on saffron buns, pepparkakor and glögg. Like many other winter festivals, spices like cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, cloves, and pepper were central to the celebration. 

Celtic peoples associated the solstice with Alban Arthan, which we now know as Ursa Major, of which the big dipper is a dominant constellation in the northern hemisphere’s winter sky. In the legend of King Arthur, the Green Knight represented winter. He arrives at Arthur’s hall as Christmas festivities are under way and dares anyone to strike him, knowing they will receive as strong a blow in a year’s time. Only Gawain is brave enough to accept the challenge, and he undergoes many trials before the tale ends.

The word yule comes from the Anglo-Saxon word for wheel. Before the advent of Christianity, the Norse, Germanic, and Scandinavian people would celebrate the midwinter gathered around a bonfire, feasting, drinking mead, exchanging gifts, and listening to minstrel-poets. They would burn logs from the previous winter’s bonfire to signal the passing of the seasons.  

Modern-day Christmas has incorporated the most beloved of these midwinter traditions. Boughs of holly and evergreen represented the renewing power of nature and the return of the sun. Mistletoe had sacred and medicinal proprieties to the Norse. Reindeer are still venerated by Scandinavian and Siberian cultures. The figure of Saint Nicholas was based on the life of the bishop of Myra. He used his inheritance to assist the suffering and was known throughout the land for his generosity to those in need, particularly his love for children and concern for sailors. Wanting to bring something of joy to poor children in his parish, he would slip into houses at night and leave gifts in their shoes.

Let us take this time to honor and connect with the darkness within.  Take a moment now and let your gaze turn gently inward, scanning your body from head to toe and noticing any sensations or feelings there.  Become aware of the space around you – the sky above, the earth below, the land encircling you.  You have entered another place and time. As your eyes adjust, you find yourself in a dark forest under a night sky. Snow begins to fall as you peer at the evergreens, their boughs heavy with snow.  Breathing deeply, you smell the needles crushed underfoot. All is silent, as if waiting, breathless. As your eyes adjust, you see a small path winding through the wood. Listen to the woods: a small animal scampers underfoot, and far away you hear an owl. The sky is black, and from it light snowflakes fall.  You begin walking along the path and immediately smell the fragrance of crushed needles. Snow-laden boughs slough their snow, freezing and tickling your skin. Snowflakes continue to fall, noiselessly, as the world around seems to listen. Ahead you see a small clearing. As you step forward, you notice a fire has been built but is not yet lit. <Pause> You sense that it has been prepared for you. When you feel ready, you light the smallest of twigs, watching as the fire crackles and begins to spread to the larger branches. As you gaze into the flame, you notice that ancestors have joined you around this sacred mid-winter fire. Their presence reminds you of days of old when you sat, feasted, and told stories. What stories do you hear? What would you like to hear told? What is the story of the new year that wishes to be told now? How are you part of that story? <Pause> 

You sit for some time, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of kinship and community. Allow yourself to journey to the darkest part of this time. What do you see? Are there any gifts for you? Lost in thought, you hear an owl’s call in the distance, and realize it is time to wind your way back along the path. Embrace your kindred and reassure them that you will return. As you begin walking back, notice the snow as it falls silently, the sweet smell of pine needles, the cold kiss of snowflakes as they melt on your nose. Look up to see the dark sky and outline of trees dark and silent. Hear the snow crunch underfoot and smell the needles. You continue along this quiet and peaceful path for some time until you reach the place you started. As you find your way back, you begin to notice your breathing, where the chair touches your back and legs, your feet on the ground. You have been touched by the quiet stillness and peace of the forest.

Let us cast off the grief, strife, and injustice of the old year and welcome the new one with hope for truth, love, and peace. <<ring bell>> Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light:  The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow:  The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.  Ring out the grief that saps the mind For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.  Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out my mournful rhymes But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good.  Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.  Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the light that is to be.