The Wisdom of Winter: Finding Light in the Darkness
Winter teaches us to listen.
To soften.
To root ourselves in the deeper layers we often pass by during the rest of the year.
There is something about this season that naturally turns us inward. The way the light fades earlier. The stillness in the mornings. The slower breath the cold invites. Winter isn’t just a season we move through. It asks us to conserve our energy. To lean into that inward revolution to begin to gather the momentum of our blooming that will come in the spring.
In the natural world, everything pulls back. Trees draw their life down into their roots. Animals settle into rest. Even the land seems to exhale and loosen its grip. Nothing is in a hurry, and nothing is growing on the surface. Yet so much is happening beneath it. There is restoration. Quiet repair. A kind of preparation that can’t be rushed.
Humans are not separate from this rhythm, even if we often act as if we are. Our culture pushes us to speed up during this time of year, to consume, to produce, to keep going. Winter invites something different. It asks us to resist the impulse to push and to let ourselves settle. To choose slowness as a form of wisdom. To honor the body’s need to rest, digest, and integrate. To gather in community and share stories, medicine and song, to tend to the fires of the hearth.
The darkness of winter has its own medicine. It gets quiet enough for us to hear what we’ve been avoiding. It reveals what has been draining us. It shows us what needs to be released. And ~ if we let it ~ darkness becomes a place where clarity begins to glow. Not in a dramatic way, but in small moments of truth that rise to the surface when the noise finally stops.
There’s a softness that winter brings, a gentleness that comes when we allow ourselves to return to what feels essential. We start noticing what actually nourishes us. We become aware of the things that no longer deserve our energy. We find the edges of what feels true, and we begin to align with them.
And then, almost imperceptibly, the light begins to return. A few extra seconds of daylight. A sunrise that feels a little less tired. A sense that something new is quietly forming. Winter reminds us of a universal truth. That all beginnings need darkness. That the whole of creation was birthed from the abyss, from that infinite space of the dazzling darkness. Renewal doesn’t happen on the surface at first. It forms in the unseen places long before we ever speak it out loud.
My hope is that this winter gives you permission to rest in the ways your spirit has been craving. That you find comfort in the quiet. That you tend the flame inside you with patience and care. And that, even in the darker days, you feel the soft promise of light returning ~ both around you and within you.
🕯️ FEATURED PRACTICE
Candle Meditation for Inner Light
This practice is simple, but it carries a quiet kind of power.
It’s a way to return to yourself when the world feels loud, or when winter asks you to slow down enough to feel what’s moving inside you.
Choose a candle that feels grounding. Something you’re drawn to. It doesn’t need to be fancy. The intention is what matters.
Find a comfortable place to sit. Let the room be dim, soft, or completely dark. Give yourself permission to arrive without needing to fix anything or reach any particular state. Just be here.
When you’re ready, light the candle.
Watch the flame for a moment. Notice how it moves. Notice the warmth it brings into the room. Notice the way your body responds to even this small source of light.
Start to breathe a little slower. Not forced. More like a settling. Imagine your breath widening the space inside your chest, making room for you to meet yourself with honesty and tenderness.
Bring your eyes to the candle again and let yourself settle into the rhythm of it. Its glow. Its steadiness. Its willingness to simply be what it is.
As you sit with it, imagine that the candle is mirroring the light you carry inside. The warmth at the center of your chest. The quiet intelligence in your body. The part of you that has never gone out, even during the harder seasons.
With each inhale, imagine drawing the candle’s glow toward your heart.
With each exhale, feel your shoulders soften, your belly loosen, your jaw let go.
If your mind wanders, that’s completely normal. Just come back to the flame. Come back to your breath. Come back to the steady knowing that you’re allowed to slow down.
When you’re ready, you might place a hand over your heart or your solar plexus. Feel the warmth of your palm meeting the warmth of your body. Let this be a small reminder that your inner light is not something you have to earn. It’s already there.
Stay as long as it feels good. There’s no right length. Trust your rhythm.
Before you blow out the candle, take a moment to ask yourself:
What is my inner light wanting to show me right now?
You may hear something. You may feel something. Or you may simply sense a softening, which is just as meaningful.
When you’re complete, extinguish the flame with gratitude. Not in a ceremonial way necessarily, just in a real way. A thank you for the light. A thank you for the moment you gave yourself.
This practice is meant to be gentle. Something you can return to anytime you need to reconnect to the steady light inside you.
