Blinking in the Dark
longest nights, caves, compost
Happy Solstice.
For the dopamine-addled, over(sugar)stimulated, serotonin-starved parts of me, oxymoronic. But this time of year is nice. My coworker, on Monday, said, “The light’s returning!” I was like, girl, it’s dark. It’s December 16th. Even when we get to the 21st, the return is so gradual, we’re going on faith.
So there’s this cave. Kinda where Highland and Bath Counties meet. For about five years I was in some kind of devotion to this cave, we had some type of arrangement. I visited every summer, often bringing a completely different crew of random people. Entering involves the rush of submerging in cold water, and being inside involves sandy beaches and cathedral ceilings.
But at some point, we always turned off our headlamps, and let ourselves be in the dark beyond dark. It would feel like my eyes were growing, freakishly, becoming more round, saucers, orbs, thirsty for light, gasping. And they keep looking for it, blinking and scanning. They don’t give up.
It makes you feel like such a creature. Something wild with clipped wings, or a dog who can’t smell, a worm out after the rain. Like, so limited by my soft, hairless mammal form, a little helpless. And I would always ride this wave of almost-panic mixed with peace- it’s actually scary in there, yet so serene. Eyes blinking on the edge of desperation, but steady, steady.
I met, on chance, at a bar, this guy whose grandfather discovered that cave… seventeen, skipping school, swimming 100 feet in frigid water under rock shelf. Later, his family dynamited(!) in the entrance I’ve come to know and spent two weeks exploring and mapping it. I think about that a lot- before cell phones, to call for help—two weeks in the darkest dark.
So I’m trying not to rush the light.
Trying to let myself compost, let my eyes keep blinking, and my heart keep calling. Or maybe, being called. I’m trying to align myself with the land and be open to the call. What’s being asked of me is changing. I’m trying to let my ego recede enough to give myself some room to breathe and choose.
Things are rearranging again. Both personally and on “the clock of the world*” chapters are closing and question marks populate the months and years to come. Yes, perils await. Yes, stability is an illusion, on some fronts, but it’s also very real: the trees and the rocks know something about stability. When history and politics have cycles that repeat we wanna despair. But when the seasons, stars, & earth’s cycles repeat, it’s all all right.
*Grace Lee Boggs via adrienne maree brown
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On My Mind:
Domoviks: Polish house spirits. They are protectors and helpers but they get pissy and petty if you neglect tending the home. (Animism to trick me into executive functioning? okayyyyyy!) via Val Alcorn
Enneagram
Jewel cookies; Chorizo stuffed bacon wrapped dates; Chocolate dipped shortbread cookies with orange zest; Mediterrean potato, cauliflower, artichoke, cherry tomato, kalamata olive & salmon on a sheet tray
Newgrange, an Irish passage tomb built 5,000 years ago, where, on the morning of the winter solstice, the sun illuminates the passage for 17 minutes ‘to warm the bones of the ancestors,’ as the tour guide puts it.
Thanks for reading! Where ya at? How’s this solstice landing for you? Hit reply I want to know!
Announcements
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