SENTIENT TIMES December 2002/January 2003

The Yearly Round

By Richard Moeschl

Winter is the price we pay for spring. It is the cost of admission for our entry into the world of spirit and matter. There can be no resurrection if there has been no death. Death stands as sentinel, presiding over winter’s preparations for renewal. And if spring is birth, then winter is conception. Egg and seed establish themselves in winter and begin the irrevocable process of joining, which will start them on the path of forming a new life thus transforming themselves and the world forever.

In the winter months from November to February, the Sun hovers its closest to the horizon, hugging the Earth so tightly that it scarcely rises high enough to illumine the daylight hours. The Solstice on midwinter’s day heralds the darkest time of the year. In the midst of this season of night and death, we light candles and bonfires to mark our happiest celebrations of light and life: Christmas, Hanukkah and New Year’s.

That is the ultimate paradox of Winter, the season of polarities. Christian iconography and contemporary commercialism depict Christmas as a time for children, from the babe in the manger to the gleeful recipients of Santa’s bounty. But Santa Claus, Joseph and at least one of the Three Wise Men are drawn from the community of elders. New Years symbols carry this theme even further. The old year is an old man full of memories of the past and the new year a newborn with a full life stretching far ahead into the future. Winter may well be the metaphorical season of eldering, but contained within that metaphor is the seed for new beginnings. Trees in winter may appear barren, their branches broken and brittle against the cold. But a closer look will reveal that tiny buds have sprouted on those very branches. Symbols of hope and new life in the face of apparent desolation. Like the new bear cubs that appear when their parents reemerge from hibernation.

Elderhood, like winter, is a time of polarities. While our physical powers diminish, our metal and intuitive faculties gain in strength, taking us to new heights. Many artists either began working later in life or reached the peak of their creativity in those years. The world looks different when you’ve spent a considerable amount of time alive in it. Decisions, priorities and values get rearranged. In one sense, this is a summing up, a review of a great journey nearly completed. In another, it’s a time of taking stock, a gathering together, packing the suitcase with only those things you will need for the great journey about to begin. It’s not a coincidence that winter follows on the heels of autumn’s harvest.

In the dark nights of winter, we draw inward, casting a reflective glance upon ourselves, the world and how the two fit together. Introspection, as the name implies, is a look inside. With this comes the realization that the microcosm (ourselves) and the macrocosm (the world) are not so very separate. And with this realization, comes forgiveness acceptance and simplification. At least these ideals present themselves to us as possibilities. We have to make the changes ourselves, but aging seems to provide a certain amount of that change for us, giving us a boost in that direction.

Of course, we still have the option to see the glass half empty and curse the world and others for making it that way. “In the bleak midwinter,” the yuletide carol laments, “frosty winds make moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.” This could just as readily describe the face and heart of the cranky old curmudgeon who always seems to find something to complain about. But a certain amount of dissatisfaction with the status quo is actually productive. It helps set the stage for change. Artists drive themselves to produce new works by maintaining a healthy discontent with their previous achievements. “I can do better” leads to the next effort to do just that. Reviewing a life near the cusp of its ending can also instill the desire to “do better” next time, whether the next time is the following year or the next incarnation.

We all get a little practice with this business of wishing to do better next time, by making New Year’s resolutions, which has become a January winter ritual. The twin faces of the god Janus exhort us to look backward and forward before we move onward. “If winter be here, can spring be far behind?”

Richard Moeschl is an Ashland, Oregon. writer, educator and public lecturer on ancient and contemporary astronomy, the calendar, and the origin of seasonal festivals. He’s the author of Exploring the Sky: Projects for Beginning Astronomers and serves as founder and executive director of the nonprofit Horizon Institute, which provides opportunities for exploring scientific and spiritual perspectives.

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