I’ve been seduced by the darkness.
I used to hate the Winter. Boring and quiet and moody. I didn’t want to hang out there at all. I wanted daffodils. I wanted new growth and new projects. The appeal of comforting stews & winter woolies always wore off quickly.
When I discovered Celtic wisdom I slowly learned to embrace the darkness and all it had to offer. The natural rhythm of the seasons showed me that there was value in darkness, in rest, in hibernation. Finding space to exhale and shed old ways, beliefs and patterns was a revelation for me. I dug my heels in and decided to hang out there – always the moderate…
The last few years have brought their fair share of darkness. I’ve bounced in and out of loss and been glad of the wisdom that supported me, that helped me to sit in the darkness and not run. It became comfortable though. In the darkness, I could stay in one place. I could listen endlessly, I could let go, I could shed every last piece of myself until there was nothing left to measure.
If I could just stay put, in loss and darkness, I couldn’t fail. I couldn’t mess up.
It took me a few twirls through those dark times to realise it’s not the best spot to hang out, long term. There is no growth in the darkness, just death & loss. That loss is part of our weird and beautiful lives here, but it has to move and shift. There has to come a time when the letting go ends and the listening begins. When the thing that has been waiting to emerge gets some sunshine.
New stirrings of ideas can take hold, the arrow of intention sharpened.
When space has been made, with all that letting go, when I’ve stopped for long enough to pay attention to the inner whisper that knows everything, then I can take wise steps. I’ve written about this feeling I get, when I’m invited to reflect on my purpose, my big dream. The feeling of ‘Oh fuck’, the sick taste in my mouth that tells me I’m going to get it wrong. That what I say will be ridiculous. That I’ll have ‘purpose envy’ when I look around at everyone else.
It feels like a belief I learned a long time ago. The feeling of not being enough comes without even thinking. It’s instinctive and automatic and just a belief. I know now that I can say to myself, anytime I fancy, I don’t believe that shite anymore. It’s not true anymore.
This week before St. Brigid’s Day or Imbolg I have dragged myself reluctantly out of the darkness. I have been listening closely to the wise whisper and been asking myself what’s stirring. What is being asked of me?
In the wise words of John O’Donoghue
I like to keep the question modest, so it doesn’t scare the little girl inside. BIG dreams feel too big for me right now. I’m ready for curiosity, for boldness, for rule breaking. I have zero fucks to give for anything that does not bring me joy, satisfaction or divilment.
That’s it. Simple as. This righteous anger, determination, zero fucks is what is being stirred up & so I am paying close attention, to see where to go with them. Happy Imbolg everyone, there’s a grand stretch…