The Winter Solstice sneaks in softly, like frost etching intricate patterns on a cold window. The longest night has arrived, wrapping the world in stillness and shadow. What does it say to you? For some, it’s a quiet invitation to rest, to curl up with blankets and stories. For others, it’s a moment to pause, to gaze at the stars until they lose track of their count—or their patience.
This season gently urges us to turn inward. It whispers, “What are you carrying in this darkness? And what are you ready to let go of?” These aren’t easy questions. I’ve often found myself sitting by a candle, clutching a warm mug, trying to sort through them—only to come up short. Darkness can feel heavy sometimes. But without it, would the light mean as much?
I’m reminded of a moment from years ago. One winter night, I went out for a walk. My breath puffed out in little clouds, faintly visible in the moonlight. I almost turned back—what’s the point of walking when you can barely see the path? But then I noticed something: my shadow, faint but clear, cast by the moon. Even in the deepest dark, there was enough light to guide me.
Maybe that’s the lesson of the Solstice: the light doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it’s a soft, steady glow—and that’s enough.
As we gather—whether in the same space or simply in spirit—there’s something deeply magical about marking this turning point together. Around a fire, at a table, with busy hands or still ones, we connect. That connection holds its own kind of sacredness. The Divine moves in shared laughter, in the quiet moments we sit together, and in everything in between.
Pause for a moment. Breathe deeply. Feel your heartbeat—the steady rhythm of life inside you. Air fills your lungs, fire warms your body, water flows through your tears and sweat, and the earth beneath your feet holds you steady. These elements remind us of all we’ve endured and all we will continue to face. They are a testament to our resilience, even on the darkest night.
And so, we bless the season:
May the long night cradle you gently.
May the smallest lights remind you of your strength.
May the returning sun spark courage and joy in your soul.
The Solstice teaches us to honor cycles: growth and rest, light and dark, beginnings and endings. It’s not always easy to embrace the stillness or the uncertainty. But this moment, this pause, is a gift.
Thank you, darkness, for your lessons. Thank you, stars, for your reminders. Thank you, sun, for your promise to return.
One of my favorite devotionals that I read everyday is “365 Days of Goddess” by Molly Remer. She has kindly given me permission to share A Prayer for Solstice...
Winter’s Crone
cave tender,
cauldron keeper,
mother of time, guide us into stillness,
into a time of deep rest and reflection.
Unwind our knots
and soothe our scurrying,
remind us how to listen,
how to be still,
how to turn inward and know.
Remind us not to fear darkness
for it is a time of necessary patience
and growth.
Help us to celebrate
the cycles of change
through which we move,
honoring the fallow times
and the flourishing times
as equally essential for life.
Bone woman,
great mother of us all,
quiet our wondering
and our worries,
gentle our grief
and soften our sorrow.
Restore our weary hearts
and renew our spirits
that we might turn
towards the light we carry within
and warm ourselves
by this,
life’s eternal and powerful flame,
knowing that we belong
to this great, grand web of incarnation
and all it holds.
Blessed be,
Lady Cynthia
(365 Days of Goddess: a daily devotional companion for sacred experiencing and everyday magic, by Molly M. Remer, 2023.)
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