Light. This time of year the natural darkness seems to bring about inspiration guided by light. Cross cultural references are made about stars, lamp oil, and yule logs. Even the pre-Celtic people living ages ago in Ireland looked toward one intense ray of golden winter glow, entering a passage tomb deep within a neolithic cave — so well engineered the stones forming the inner dome secure water-tight dryness in an ever-damp environment.
Two years ago on this Winter Solstice day I experienced the mystic world of Newgrange, Ireland. I wrote more details in an article that I encourage you to read once finished here (linked below). The neolithic “technology”, at 5,000 years old, is even more ancient than the pyramids in Egypt. I arrived on the grounds of this amazing attraction just before sunrise, in the thick of a typically dark and damp Irish morning.
The energy was strong and optimistic for a brilliant year ahead. A few hundred people gathered on the icy grasses in front of the entrance to the Stone Age relic — holding hands and chanting — to welcome in the New Year. Rays of morning light slowly worked precisely into a small opening in the hieroglyphics on the face of the rocky mound, much like a scene from Indiana Jones.
The sun gently rose over rolling fields of Irish countryside, mist floating up to reveal rock walls and flocks of sheep already beginning their daily graze. Newgrange is located in the Boyne Valley, just outside Dublin and remains a sacred area of the Emerald Island — ancient Irish kings were crowned nearby on the Hill of Tara.
This Winter Solstice, it seems I’ve traded out layers of wool and Goretex amongst frigid morning dew for seventy-degree weather under the effervescent sun of Key West, Florida. After a challenging 2020 that often felt very dark, I’m thankful to enjoy this colorful region, flooded with light and surrounded by cleansing clear blue water.
I arrived in Florida about a week ago to help my friend Chris reposition his sailboat from Fort Lauderdale to Key West for the Winter holidays.
We set sail under a calm morning breeze. Along the way a pod of North Atlantic spotted dolphins approached the catamaran — frolicking back and forth and jumping forward as if leading the way. They swam in lock step with us, just a few feet under my perch on the bow. There were at least 15 in this family, personalities blazing, trading off in a playful, captivating choreography lasting over an hour.
Darkness took hold just as we passed the edge of Biscayne Bay and it was time for each of us to take turns keeping watch in the night. I was up first with a 10pm-4am shift.
I’m not an experienced sailor and it was both tense and exciting at first, learning the ropes following the radar — the autopilot guiding the way. While Chris slept I was in charge of a vessel racing through rolling waves, seemingly into the abyss of darkness. I thought about early mariners, depending on the wind to blow them to mysterious lands and how much trust was required of the crew in order to keep faith that they’d reach their destination. It’s amazing to me how many ships crossed oceans around the globe without GPS, radar, internet, satellite phones, or even sometimes fresh water. If they could do it, so would I.
As I relaxed into the quiet darkness, only lit by the nighttime glow of red lights (the red allows eyes to more easily toggle between the navigation tools of the boat and the dark world ahead of the vessel), a softening occurred. The world seemed to shift from checklists and beeping warnings to a meditative trance induced by the rocking of the boat as the wind whipped the sail beam and the navigational lights flickered between the flapping flags towering on the mast high above.
The waving pieces of nylon seemed to be snapping in an effort to get my attention, because I finally glanced up to a sight that filled me with surprise and delight. Although the waters ahead appeared to lead toward a dense void, a whole cosmos of bright light emerged overhead. Thousands of stars popped out as if to say hello to me, balanced against a sliver of a moon that provided minimal light.
We traded places at 4am and a few seconds after my head hit the pillow I entered a deep slumber, put at ease by the lull of a vessel powered by nature’s wind. Hours later, golden rays peeking through the blinds graced my eyes, awakening me to a world of pristine blue saltwater balanced by the palm tree lined banks of the Florida Keys.
In the emptiness of nighttime, the bright stars were encouraging me to keep going, both physically and spiritually, in order to remain open to what lives on the other side — when the light returns.
I look at the Winter Solstice in the same way. This shortest day of the year offers the promise of brightness, even in swollen darkness. While this past year seemed to provide abundant clouds, I look forward to clearer skies in the year ahead.
Although 2020 brought multiple challenges, this moment is not merely a time to ponder the external world around us. Opportunity remains to examine ways to cleanse our internal workings. What might be allowed to fade away — literally and figuratively — in order to create space for new adventures, learnings or connections?
May this Winter Solstice day inspire a look ahead to more light to come. What do you look forward to in the year ahead? How can you shine that bright energy on yourself and others?
Warmest Holiday Wishes,
Matthew
