Walking the Spiral:
A Winter Solstice Reflection and Practice
photo by Michele Walker
Winter darkness calls for walking the spiral and entering the slow inward journey that invites presence, stillness, and rest. During a Wild Church gathering, a conversation about solstice included someone sharing delight in every moment of daylight. A quiet response arose for me: I crave darkness, each moment of darkness is cherished. Such a response was not always there, over the past five years a different relationship with darkness has been cultivated—one rooted in trust, love, and reverence. The dark has become a place of gentle holding, where the world softens, listening deepens, breath flows more freely, and spaciousness becomes available.
Solstice feels like a threshold into winter—the season of long nights, release, rest, stillness, and listening. Across the land, gardens, trees, and animals enter dormancy, carrying ancient knowledge of seasonal cycles. Plants die back, while seeds and bulbs settle into the soil to wait. Life, death, and rebirth are visible teachers during this time.
As this season begins, how might the threshold be marked for you? A ceremony may be simple: sitting in darkness with candle or fire, reading a poem to open sacred time, then allowing space for inner reflection. Entering a personal cycle of reflection can be deeply powerful. Within this offering is a reflective practice rooted in gratitude and release, mirroring the rhythms of life and death. Such a practice creates space for longings and dreams to be quietly nurtured through the winter months, until the moment of rebirth arrives.
May this Solstice be a threshold, and may the crossing lead into long nights shaped by release, rest, stillness, and listening.
Something For Your Heart
In Celebration of the Winter Solstice
by Stephanie Noble
Do not be afraid of the darkness.
Dark is the rich fertile earth
that cradles the seed, nourishing growth.
Dark is the soft night that cradles us to rest.
Only in darkness
can stars shine across the vastness of space.
Only in darkness
is the moon's dance so clear.
There is mystery woven in the dark quiet hours.
There is magic in the darkness.
Do not be afraid.
We are born of this magic.
It fills our dreams
that root, unravel and reweave themselves
in the shelter of the deep dark night.
The dark has its own hue,
its own resonance, its own breath.
It fills our soul,
not with despair, but with promise.
Dark is the gestation of our deep and knowing self.
Dark is the cave where we rest and renew our soul.
We are born of the darkness,
and each night we return
to the deep moist womb of our beginnings.
Do not be afraid of the darkness,
for in the depth of that very darkness
comes a first glimpse of our own light,
the pure inner light of love and knowing.
As it glows and grows, the darkness recedes.
As we shed our light, we shed our fear,
and revel in the wonder of all that is revealed.
So, do not rush the coming of the sun.
Do not crave the lengthening of the day.
Celebrate the darkness.
Here and now. A time of richness. A time of joy.
A Sacred Practice: Walking the Spiral
With the darkness still beckoning, this is a beautiful time to walk the spiral—moving deeper into inner reflection and then slowly emerging over the winter months, preparing to welcome spring.
Gather a piece of paper and a favourite writing implement. Coloured pencils or pens may also be used.
Draw a spiral that fills the page, leaving a small margin around the edges. Keep the spiral open enough to allow writing along the line. At the inner curl of the spiral, write: “I am grateful for…”
Take three deep breaths to connect with the body and soften the heart. Write what feels worthy of gratitude from the past year. What growth arrived with spring? What abundance was present in summer? What faded or came to completion in autumn? Reflect on both the inner and outer landscapes when considering these seasons.
After completing the gratitudes, breathe them in and notice where gratitude lives within the body.
Along the outer edge of the spiral, write: “I release to the fertile darkness…”
Close the eyes and take three deep breaths, reconnecting with gratitude. Reflect on what feels ready to be released. As leaves fall and nourish the soil, allow what is released to become a gift that feeds what longs to be planted and grow. Write each release, offering gratitude for what each experience has given, and let go with love.
When the releases are complete, breathe in and notice what feels alive within. Is there spaciousness? Lightness? A quiet vitality?
Place hands on the heart and offer gratitude—to the fertile darkness for receiving what is no longer needed, and to the self for opening into the winter dark.
This practice may also be taken onto the land. Read the words aloud to a particular being, or draw a spiral on sand or snow and walk the spiral while speaking gratitudes and releases. Being witnessed holds deep power, especially during moments of letting go.