Have we killed Winter?

I started writing this post just before the Spring Equinox, also known as Ostara, as a reflection of how my Winter has been, questioning our ways in our collective refusal to rest being alienated from Nature's rhythms, opening up the discussion on sharing our feelings and suggesting some solutions...

As the Spring equinox marks yet another turning of the Wheel of the Year, I feel relieved to finally see some energy come back to me after what felt like a long draining Winter. Not that I did not enjoy the snowy festive season, quite the contrary. But I – and from what I gathered, quite a few of us - have barely had any energy to match the demands of an increasingly busy world that has forgotten the symbolism and wisdom each season holds. Yet, Nature freely offers advice if you remember to pay attention: in my part of the world, Winter demands rest. Though, shut out from Nature, disconnected, we continue to operate collectively as if days were long and bright. And so I wonder: may we have symbolically killed Winter, perhaps before climate change even had a chance to do it? And more importantly, is there a way to claim, or call, Winter back?

Living close to Nature has really changed my experience of Winter this last year. Having to chop wood to feed the fireplace, get the spades out to clear the snow from the driveway or protecting the year’s last harvest against the elements made it all so wild and raw. I was fortunate to experience proper snow at home up until mid-March - “home” being at the start of mountains, just above the French valleys near the Swiss border. Yet, every day felt like a run against the clock, and I developed a longing for more time to observe these beautifully peaceful snow-bathed landscapes. They somehow reminded me of the Arabic deserts of my youth, sand and snow bearing the same message: a sense of infinite emptiness, void, stillness… angst meeting relief… a gentle Death.

I had read at the end of the year in the magazine Positive News (highly recommended!) that scientists finally proved what must have seemed obvious to many of us: a sense of awe, which you may experience when faced with mesmerising landscapes, modifies our experience of time. Few minutes may feel like hours… Anxious to get more time, I tried to get more awe.

I’ve always been more of a fan of the art of contemplation than meditation: observing wild landscapes grounds my nervous system far better than being confronted with troubling thoughts and emotions, as if the winds and rivers could wash them all away. When I’m in my mind, I often feel trapped and alone in tackling my issues. When I look out to Nature, I feel an ally is gently smiling back, comforting me in accepting to share the burden I carry. In those precious moments, I get to bathe in infinite gratitude, love, awe, timelessness and as a result, I feel a sense of loyalty, care and duty to protect this benevolent ally so keen to welcome me as kin.

Some relationships will start with an evident connection, others will take time to grow roots and require deep foundations to withstand storms. Whether between humans or with Nature, I feel our relationship is no different: I personally - and perhaps “we” collectively – feel the urgency to spend time in the wilderness to rekindle our friendship with Nature, grow those roots and confirm our vows. And as with all relationships, one fundamental is the ability to listen to what the other has to say, and perhaps take the advice when prompted to do so.

Looking for time, awe, friendship and advice, I went out covered in layers, ready to reconnect with my wilderness. I sat by our vegetable patch surrounded by the white soft blanket of snow and palpable thick mist, heart wide open on the verge of tears, both due to awe and tiredness. The mystical vibe matched perfectly my then dark poetic mood: I improvised verses by the cherry tree throning its vegetable kingdom, looking dead, but in fact silently and deservingly resting from the year’s hard labour. I felt on edge - Winter does have a way of reawakening demons.

Mist & Snow

“Why do they all get to rest, the trees, the soil, the seeds, the creatures? Why don’t I get to hibernate too? Why must I power on? Am I being punished for being human?”

As the days had been darkening, I had been losing more and more energy. The winter solstice brought some hope with lengthening days, but it still felt cold and too dark after work to get up to much in the evenings. Trying to manage a work life, the Avalonia Project, musical aspirations, a social life and a romantic relationship, not to mention all the admin and daily tasks along with my non-negotiable shadow work, felt as tall as the mountains I wake up to in the morning. I dropped everything I could drop, and still could not manage to muster more energy.

Winter indeed impacts people differently. Dealing with PTSD, this season is particularly triggering to me, and I imagine anyone else who has their share of demons, neatly kept in check the rest of the year by the Sun’s radiant energy. It seems to me though that one would have to be particularly detached from Nature (or enlightened?) not to be at least at times impacted by the lack of sunshine, the cold weather and the long nights, regardless of their impeccable time-management skills, love of Winter or healthy nervous system… unless, perhaps, they had time to slow down as the rest of Nature does. 

Following the path of druidry and celebrating the Celtic Wheel of the Year with the Avalonia Project over the past few years has taught me some things about Winter: our ancestors the Celts saw Winter as a necessary period of rest, a moment to let go of projects and focus on survival. The target: coming out of Winter restored and refreshed, ready to embark into Spring. I’m not convinced many of us came out of this Winter feeling that way.

I am no historian, but I have come across some interesting stories on the Celts’ way of life which may interest you…

Back in the days when stores to buy food from distant lands were non-existent, people depended mostly on one year’s harvest. Had it gone bad, the small amounts of food to live through the winter months were rationed and carefully distributed to ensure the survival of as many villagers as possible. On the particularly poor years, many suffered and died from famine. And so, how we spent our energy in Winter had a drastic impact on food resources. It was a collective duty to pace ourselves, to rest and make sure we wouldn’t feed on others’ rations.

Reading some more about the olden days, I found out that societies living with Nature’s rhythms experienced a very different working pattern than we typically have today - at least those of us regularly working on computers, in offices or in other contexts removed from Nature. Folks worked hard in the harvest seasons and stopped working for most of Winter. Some sources show an average working week of 20 hours across the year in the old agrarian cultures, largely due to that much-needed Winter rest. Though predominant in the cold season, resting was a generally more common practice: our ancestors took frequent breaks and naps throughout the day and had significantly more holidays than we do today, so they could gather as communities and unwind (though some of those “holy days” referred to church duty).    

From some of the accounts we have of the Celts and early Christians, it’s understood that many slept with the Sun and the night’s rhythms, except of course for nights of celebration around fires typically held at specific moments of the year - in Winter, we had Yule, the solstice, and Imbolc around February 1st, celebrating the reawakening of Nature with poetry and storytelling. There are even accounts of peasants spending a large part of Winter in barns sleeping against their animals to warm each other up, slowing their digestive needs and entering into a semi-hibernation state until Spring’s return. In those days, humans depended on Nature and believed “she” depended on them; we had a relationship.

So, what happened? Why is it that our modern society demands of us the same level of productivity in Winter as in Summer? Did we forget about this primal need to rest and restore?

Since electricity has come into our lives, we started replacing the Sun with lightbulbs. We’ve gradually pushed back our days way beyond sunset. Sure, there was a time when we all had fires in our hearths, but wood is costly: anyone who is lucky enough to have a fireplace and needs to chop wood will know that it requires a lot of effort, not to mention resources. Night light was a privilege. As society developed and started experiencing major gaps in social classes, wealthier folks had candles and servants to tend to them, and could afford staying up later than the less fortunate. Until the Industrial Revolution offered electricity and public lighting to everyone and changed our ways of consuming resources...

Perhaps, lack of darkness made us forget our origins.

Perhaps we’ve once again been the victims of our own progress and innovation, a world growing so fast and gaining knowledge before wisdom has a chance to catch up. Detached from Nature, alienated even, we forget about this inherent right to rest, pulled by a system with no “off” nor “pause” button - unless a pandemic hits.

Or perhaps I am wrong, and only a minority of us may not have caught up with the current energy demands of our society. So let me ask you: did you have energy all Winter, whilst feeling closely related to Nature? If so, this article may not be of interest to you - though you may have some useful tips to share with the rest of us. Have you been exhausted, at wit’s ends and not really understanding why? Then maybe this article will give you insights about where that might be coming from, make you see you are not alone and this, and that it’s OK.

It's OK to not feel productive when the sun hasn’t been shining for days: you’re depleted of your natural resources.

It’s OK to feel at odds with the requirement to spend more hours of your day at work than the Sun is up for, with artificial lights to con the night. Especially when trapped behind a computer screen.

It’s OK to feel unmotivated, not want to do sports, binge on series or raclette, or do whatever else feels right to get through those dark months just to feel a little better, even if it’s a temporary quick fix. So long as you remember to look for that balance between coping and self-care when the time is right, in the sunnier days.

It’s OK to be down at times, overwhelmed, feel a little despair even.

It’s natural.

Winter is hard in this part of the world, at least for any of us even a little still connected to our natural rhythms. But make sure to share with close ones or people who can help if it gets too much. 

I lost a friend this Winter. Bless you Angela. She sadly reached a bottom-low level of despair, which was not OK.

I felt guilty. I organised with some of her friends her funerals for our community around a fire in honour of all the love and care she gave us all, and we were many in feeling guilty for not having given her that love and care back when she needed it the most. Too busy trying to cope with the everyday life demands with low winter energies, we missed the signs.

Death took her on January’s full moon, known as the Wolf Moon. There aren’t many wolves on our lands anymore, but we could feel their howling deep within our hearts full of sorrow.

Angela reminded me of the importance to slow down and pay attention. To Nature, to my community, my loved ones, myself. Conflicted between my duties as a citizen, an employee, an aunt, a partner, a community leader and my wild nature desperate to rest and grieve, my body shut down, got sick again and again, and left me with no energy to “perform” one too many times. Talking to Angela’s friends and my own family, colleagues and close ones, I realised I was far from alone in feeling all this emotional chaos due to my needs not being met.

All this is why it’s increasingly important to talk about how we feel before any such tragedies like losing Angela happen. To acknowledge the season’s hardship is key to fighting feelings of loneliness and despair. Ever heard of sharing circles? I bet there are some being organised near where you are. Find them, even if it feels unnatural at first, and reclaim your inherent communal right to share how you feel with your benevolent community. Having gone through my share of intense despair in the past, believe me when I say that sharing our wintery difficulties with others and realising we’re not alone goes a long way. It’s a great start to give ourselves permission to take that rest where we can and feel those legitimate painful emotions.

Of course, there can be plenty of positive ones too, and it’s also incredibly important to share joy. Winter can be a great source of inspiration: from rest and boredom can be birthed new ideas and projects, just like the Spring sprouts are born from a rested soil. It can be a wonderful cause for celebration as we gather with family and friends. In the Alps, it’s also a great excuse for indulging in sumptuous cheese feasts after meeting the mountains on a pair of skis.

In my book, whilst it’s important to feed on the happy stuff, it’s equally important to acknowledge the challenging stuff so we may transmute these feelings. If there’s one thing I have learned from years of self-studying psychology, it’s that bottled up emotions cause fatigue and are likely to birth demons. Maybe our energy crisis is as relevant to our bodies as to our human world. Maybe both our restlessness and pollution have killed Winter. As the ancient alchemists put it: “As within, so without. As above, so below”.

Yet, I am an optimist, passionately confident we can revive Winter and all the beauty this season has to offer. The power in the alchemists’ lesson lies in the possibility to impact the outer from the inner: it starts with our feelings. Often seen as the last season of the year, the Celts and druids saw Winter as the birthing place of the new year. From Darkness is Light birthed. Driven by the desire to shift our current guilt-loaded ecology discourse towards a solution-oriented, good news, empowered stance for both humans and Nature to thrive together, I hope that this article will inspire you in some way to try and understand how you feel and function in Winter, and what you can do in the face of hardship.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any real solutions to propose on how to tackle this on a societal and systemic level, particularly when it comes to the workplace: I would love to work shorter days or less hours in Winter, even if it meant doing more in summer. But I have no idea if it could be financially viable if we did this collectively, considering the way our current system functions - although seeing so many companies successfully embracing the four-day week model whilst enhancing their productivity is already cause for hope and celebration. Can we not think of something new, with the lessons of the old, more aligned with our natural rhythms and needs?

There are plenty of physical coping tips you can find out on sports, nutrition, plants, time-management etc. but in my experience, they are not enough and, just like artificial lights, trying to con our nature which is just yearning for us to stop. I can however state some of the obvious social, behavioural and cultural solutions:

Let’s be kind to one another.

Let’s listen when someone’s not feeling well.

Let’s be patient with ourselves and others,

and recognise falling short as perhaps a side-effect of Winter.

Let’s gather as communities every so often,

and fight loneliness together.

Let’s embrace solitude and rest when we can,

And be free from judgment on others’ needs.

Let’s support what wellbeing means to me, you, us.

Let’s pay heed to Nature’s lessons,

and softly welcome Winter’s return

as a gentle season of silence and peace,

with no other preoccupation than restoration

of our energy levels, to be in service.

I hope that one day we’ll collectively bring the conversation to this level and shift to a Nature-embracing paradigm where we stop alienating ourselves from our natural surroundings, elements and seasons and start acknowledging feelings and needs as essential in the balance of what matters as a society. Till then, let’s make our voices of Winter speak up, be heard and help others feel less alone, whilst giving ourselves permission to finally feel restored as the new season is upon us.

Goodbye for now, Winter.

Thank you for the lessons.

Thank you snow, mist and mistletoe.

Happy Spring to all,

with blessings from the first daffodils.

Hello Spring

Au-revoir Angela, à la prochaine...

Et merci Luc pour les photos de la cérémonie...