The Winter Solstice once again finds me looking back on the past months during the wee hours of the night.

It just so happens that this late December, the world around me has been encased in a certain amount of snow and ice. Enough to disrupt pretty much everything in the region. I’ve actually never seen it quite this bad down here.

And I’ve never had it quite so accurately reflect my own past year.

The snow makes things in the urban arena bright. Sources of light are plentiful, but the darkness often swallows them up. The snow catches and reflects the bulk of that once lost light, illuminating even the darkest night with a somewhat eerie glow.

It makes everything seem navigable.

But it’s not.

That same snow that reflects so much light and lets you see where you’re going also works against you. It pulls your legs out from under you as you step on a spot of ice. It slows you down and chills your bones as you trudge through it.

Give it half a chance and it will kill you.

Over this past year, I’ve had a few things I’ve relied on–systems that have worked quite well–turn on me and work against me. But as a side effect, they’ve also provided quite a bit of illumination, cutting through some blind spots and making seen some long hidden dark corners.

This past year, and the one before it, have been a time of complacency and stagnation for me. I’ve been frozen in place, able to see clearly, but unable to move in any given direction without losing my footing.

Now, as I pass through the darkest part of the Solstice–awake and aware of where I have been–I know full well that the coming sun will bring with it a true light and useful warmth. That light and warmth will eventually grow and, in time, will thaw the entrapping ice and snow.

Over the next handful of months, there will be many changes. Plans that have been simmering in an igloo-like incubator (safe from the frostbite, but still held in reserve) will spring forth and make their own way in the world. New ideas will push their way out of the tundra and take root with the strength to serve as handholds, steadying all who pass by on the treacherous ice.

Most importantly, though, I choose to do this. Even before the thaw, I’ll be picking my way along a path I’ve looked at for a long time.

The going will be slow at first, but there will be movement.

The sun will rise. The ice will glitter, then melt. And the path will once again be clear.

When Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas hit the screens, it very quickly became one of my all-time favorite holiday films.

Mostly because it had my favorite holiday (Halloween, in case you can’t tell) blended in with the much more popular one.

Mostly, but not entirely. The movie (if you haven’t seen it) deals with Jack Skellington, the king of Halloween Town (where it’s always Halloween, of course), discovering Christmas. Misunderstandings and some poor decisions happen, and, ultimately, things work out pretty well for all involved.

The main thrust of the story, like so many other Christmas-themed films, is the discovery of what “Christmas” really means.

The main thrust of the story is one of self-discovery, like so many other Christmas-themed films. The secondary theme is the discovery of what “Christmas” really means.*

For those who are some flavor of Christian, the easy answer is obvious: It celebrates the birth of Christ the Savior. For those who are devout in their Christian faith, there probably isn’t any other answer needed outside of that one.

Thing is, Christmas has become much more than that.

We probably have Macy’s and Coca Cola to blame.

See, commercial interests have done more to advance the idea of Christmas more than any official church body ever has. By pumping advertising dollars into images of Santa Clause, snowmen, and polar bears, they’ve spread the secular mythology of the holiday around the world many times over.

I was raised Catholic, so early on I was very familiar with the religious angle of things. Starting from that point, it’s kind of difficult to reconcile all the rest of the holiday hoopla. In many ways, the sacred and secular versions of Christmas are at odds with one another. That dissonance, while not spoken about much growing up, still irks me a little.

But what I’ve discovered (or decided, which may be more accurate), is that at the core of both versions of the holiday is the spirit of love, giving, and hope.

At it’s core, Christmas is about how we can all be better than we normally are–and how we should strive to be better all year long, not just on that one day.

That answer comes to us from any number of places, perhaps the most famous being the Yes, Virgina, There is a Santa Clause editorial. Propagated more by (another one of my all time favorites) Miracle on 34th Street.

These days, I tend to focus more on the deeper secular meaning of the holiday. It’s more palatable in many ways in the multi-cultural world we live in.

I can see why many on both sides of the sacred/secular divide still find it offensive that Christmas is pushed so much, but I hope that, someday, we can all be a little more accepting of the secular bits of it.

With things being as nasty as they are out there in the world, I think we can all use a little of Rudolph’s inner strength and Santa’s jolliness and Frosty’s good cheer to make things a little better for everyone.

[* Edited to clear up the film themes. Further proof I shouldn't write when I should be sleeping.]

While not technically the darkest of the dark days of winter, for those of us in the non-tropical regions of the northern hemisphere, it sure does kick of what is typically the nastiest part of winter.

Already stressed from the cold months that have passed, our minds and bodies are feeling the effects of the dead world around us. Nature is, generally speaking, wrapped up and hiding from everything, leaving us with gray and brown landscapes, often covered in a brilliant, lifeless white or deadly ice.

Thing is, even while we’re troming around all bundled up, wishing it were warmer, Nature isn’t just hiding. It’s gearing up for the spring–conserving some energy, transmuting other (stored) energy, growing in strength. There’s a lot going on under the surface, we just can’t see it all the time.

Today is also Groundhog Day, that wonderful bit of Americana that has grown into a pop-culture phenomenon. Heck, it was even the backdrop to one of my favorite Bill Murray comedies, the appropriately named Groundhog Day.

In that movie cynical, jaded and arrogant newscaster Phil Connors finds himself trapped not only in a small town that he despises, but in time. Again and again the day repeats itself. No matter what he does, it seems, he always finds himself waking up once more to the same cheesey song blaring through the motel radio, running into the same people, again and again and again.

The real beauty in this is the subtext. Connors is stuck in his own patterns and is oblivious to that fact until he’s forced to see just how similar all of his normal actions are. He’s put up his own layers of dead wood, frozen sod and encrusting ice, cutting himself off from the better parts of himself.

Those parts are still there, though. Just like the natural world keeps working even when we can’t see it, our own inner world plugs right along through most of our distractions. Oh, there are consequences of ignoring all those inner working, but, for the most part, most people can go a good long time without any obvious ill effects.

Everything–seen or unseen–follows it’s own cycle. The Wheel of the Year turns from season to season. The ground freezes and thaws, the trees shed their leaes and then bud, grass turns from brown to green. Our actions spawn reactions, those reactions have ripples that touch others and bounce back to us as new chancces for action. It all goes round and round and round.

And sometimes, we get stuck.

These big, classic, seasonal markers are chances for us to do two things: take stock of where we are in our own cycles and, if we so choose, make use of the natural ebb and flow around us to kick-start that move to a new, more healthy (or more desiered) cycle.

Of course, that all requires that we be aware of those deep internal workings we may have buried away ages ago. Digging them out can be more difficult than attempting to work the back yard garden before the snow has melted, but it is possible.

Be willing to do that work. Be willing to make the jump. And don’t be too scared by that bit of Darkness you may see–it’s just a part of you… illuminated by the winter sun.

The turning point of that last burst usually falls at the end of October (for those of us in the Northern latitudes) and traditionally marks the end of the year.

Traditionally, that is, for those of a Pagan persuasion. Or those of us who feel the ebb and flow of the energies that those grand old nature religions are based on.

This is the time of year to enjoy that cold, crisp scent of life and the wild splashes of color that have crinkled up from the supple, more gentle hues of previous days. A time to appreciate those who we enjoyed those sights and scents with.

A time to remember who we are and where our place in the Universe is.

It is the end of the cycle. The preparation for the darkest, coldest time of the year and of our lives.

We get through it because we know the cycle will renew.

After a rest, there will be rebirth.

Now, we are close to Death. There is nothing that can give us more of an appreciation for Life.

They are connected.

They are natural.

And they are part of the same cycle we are in.

Celebrate that connection.

Revel in that last burst of life.

Prepare for the break before it surges again.

Blessed Samhain to you all.