There's an undeniable ebb and flow to the seasons of Nature, which we accept and do what we must to get through, because we know we have no other choice. Similarly, I've noticed that we all have our own seasons of sorts, cycles that we go through of ups and downs that can last hours, days, weeks or months. If we keep track of them, we may notice they follow a specific rhythm or pattern - a wheel of sorts. Unlike the ones in Nature, however, we rally and try to fight these cycles... at least, I know that I do.
For years, I've fought against my own personal Winter. Without fail, at this time of year my energy levels drop, I become a bit of a shut in, I have no desire to pick up a brush, a pastel or a pencil and create art. And despite knowing this will happen and knowing that in years past the fight with myself has led to depression, I've continued to do so. I rail against the lack of energy, trying to force myself to get all manner of things done and I beat myself up over the lack of art making; demanding to know what sort of artist doesn't paint for months at a time.
Until this year. This year, I'm done fighting. I'm done railing and belittling and putting so fucking much emphasis on what I'm not doing, rather than what I need. I'm done sending myself down the deep corridors of the Black Wolf's domain over something that, much like Nature's Winter, I cannot stop. So what if I don't paint? So what if I want to hang out in bed in my pajamas drinking hot tea until a decadently late hour of the afternoon? What is it going to hurt to give in and honor my seasons?
What will change if I go with my own flow, just like I go with the flow of Nature, that wonderful teacher?
Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I'll still face darkness during the longest nights of the year. Perhaps I'll still feel stressed about not making art or the house being untidy. Perhaps I'll feel guilt for my self perceived laziness.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps I'll find that the darkest nights aren't cold black, but a warmer shade. Perhaps I'll find contentment in wool and yarn as I sit in bed crocheting after Orion has fallen asleep, or twirl the drop spindle where he can watch it. Perhaps the occasional day under warm covers with hot tea and the bodies of my family cozied up next to mine is more important and nourishing than a scratch cooked meal or the most tidy of homes.
I'm betting that there is. That there is magic hidden in our personal cycles, our small medicine wheels if you will, just as there is in the large one that spins the World. An overlooked magic that we've forgotten in our quest to do more, be more, have more and fit in to tidy labeled boxes like so many office files.
Perhaps it's time to let go of more and reclaim our magic.