Nurturing Darkness

Snow may still be falling, but each time it melts I marvel at the little tiny shoots that are beginning to push their way through the ground like little activists marching for liberation. And then there’s the extra minute of sunlight that each sundown bestows. There’s less minutes of darkness. There's hope: spring is on its way!

Our Western culture has done a sensational job training us to see darkness as inherently evil and deadly. It’s an underworld in that sense—a place of secrets and shadows, a place of taboos, a place of hauntings and things that “go bump in the night,” and, often, a place where painful memories get filed away and hidden underneath a layer of cobwebs. The darkness is a place of fear and we avoid it like the plague.

Winter is, in many areas, accompanied by a bitterly cold climate. We, too, grow cold in temperament with less sunlight. And there's little wonder why. Think back, for a moment, to the womb. It was in this darkness where our physical bodies received nourishment from our birth mothers as they formed. It was only when we experienced the trauma of birth that our psyches associated the dark with pain. As we were expelled from our peaceful and nurturing environment and took our first breath in this realm, the violence of that experience made such an impression that we cursed the darkness of our lost Paradise and projected onto it everything that we loathe and fear.

We need to retrain ourselves to see darkness as a place of nourishment, not fear. We need to heal ourselves from the traumas and horrors that the dark represents for us. We can do this by going and seeing what’s there. We have light within us to guide our way. Not every view will be enhanced by a sharp light, mind you; sometimes there is much that is better seen with a gentle light in a soft focus. (You don’t want to repel the specters; you want to learn from them. They need to be eased into the light so that their rich mystery doesn't get compromised.)

As a writer I go into darkness all the time, and I dredge up things from the depths of both an individual and collective unconscious that I often didn't know were there. When I go deep inside that pitch-black cave, use a soft light to fish in the pool of shadows and catch one, I'll ask her kindly to tell me her story. She usually does, surprised and grateful she's been given a platform whereby she can share her depth and wisdom. It becomes cathartic, for her and for me.

Nourishment is what the dark of winter is all about. Physically we may eat a little more to keep our bodies warmer. Spiritually and emotionally we retreat inwards, exploring our hang-ups to see why they are there and how we might correct them and move forward. Once we surrender our egos and open ourselves to our cosmic teachers (the hang-ups), we learn. Once that happens we can then emerge without fear from our winter wombs, ready to drink in the pleasures of the unfolding earth and meet the challenges of our ever-changing world.

Speaking of nourishment (you knew a shameless plug had to come along, didn’t you?!), “Vegemite Girl,” a poem that first appeared in the Fall 2008 issue of The Helix, will run on Twitter and Facebook starting March 5th. It’s a very playful poem that takes a look at intersections and disjunctions of food, culture and identity in a lighthearted conversational tone.

We may be heading into more daylight, but shouldn't forget that the dark is equally nurturing and can lead us to understanding who we really are as a whole (provided we don't forget to return to the light and maintain balance).

Namaste.

"Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learn. The spiritual journey is the unlearning of fear and prejudices and the acceptance of love back in our hearts."--Marianne Williamson