"A brave candling theory I’m making for you, little lamplight, believe..." — Mark Doty

View of the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn from Laguna Beach, California

Once again, I am reminded of the power of pausing, especially today on the winter solstice, when from ancient times, people recognized as the time to collaborate with the stars to bring back the light. Ancient peoples understood that “creation” is not something that happened “out there”, once upon a time, but is continuously happening by our choosing to participate. Our intentions, this moment of pausing and choosing to point ourselves in a certain direction, matters. The word solstice is derived from the Latin sol ("sun") and sistere ("to stand still"). Stand still and listen to the stars. The Bushmen could hear them singing. Knowing that we live in collaboration with this earth, the trees and stones and stars, matters. Imagine that invisible force we call gravity, holding us in place. Without this help, we would all spin off into space. It is a time of remembering what it is so easy to forget: we can call on trees and stones and stars, and the invisible force that brought us here, and will take us away. We can call on these presences to help us bring in the light. There is a profound feeling in this conjunction, visible from millions of miles, of other forces at work.

And how do we navigate all the loss? How can we take solace in the age old wisdom that the gift is received by being willing to dive into the abyss?

Here I am with my father in Hospice care at the worst time and place of the pandemic, in southern California. The abyss here is seeing my father’s shattered body, his inability to move, and his confoundedness at how he ever could end up in the state he is in. He is unable even to get into a wheelchair to go outside and see the sky. The desire to turn away from his pain and helplessness is strong. I make efforts to stay present by putting my hands on his broken back, by touch. In these moments everything else drops away, and he returns to a state of bliss, in spite of his decrepitness, saying life is so good, life could not be any better than this…. And then we return to his small room, his failing eyesight, and inability to swallow.

I remind myself what Joseph Campbell said:

In loving the spiritual, you cannot despise the earthly.

This conjunction, this turning time, this winter, is also a call to all makers.

The ancient cave paintings that still resonate with life today are a reminder that the artists and makers of all time are the shamans, the keepers of vision. There is an imperative to lean into, and hold the vision for the culture. One way to do this is through the physical act of ritual. Ritual is a way of opening the door between the visible and invisible, the waking world and the dream world, the day and the night. It is a way of remembering. It is a magic gate. The winter solstice is the beginning of the turning year for me. I continue my ritual of letting go, and visioning what I wish to bring in, into New Year’s Eve. I repeat my ritual on the eve of the new year with the deepening vigor that has accumulated since the solstice.

Here are some practical thoughts, some “notes to myself”, on making the changes you wish for in the coming year. This will be familiar to you, but even though I have done this for a long time, I find it helpful:

It is easy enough to think about all the things we want to leave behind in 2020! Write those things down on paper, pronounce them aloud, and toss them into the fire!

To manifest your vision of what you wish to bring into the new year, here are some questions: 

What voice disturbs you with the thought I want to be better at this? What you are reaching for, and who you wish to become, is supported by the choices you make in your physical environment. For example, if you want to become a better painter or calligrapher or writer or maker of any kind, set up the place that you work in in a way that makes it easy to go there . The important things, the changes that matter, are mostly made by the small habits, the things that you do each day. By small changes, like having your journal open to a page you will do something on the next day. No matter how small your space is, or how little time you have to dedicate to it, the dedication to showing up will create change in the shape of your life. You will become more who you wish to be.

Notice what you want to change, and make the smallest step toward it. For example, if I want to improve my writing practice, I need to organize my space, and make it inviting by having my notebook and pen set up in a particular place and show up at a particular time. (Instead of having notebooks all over the place, as I often do!) Put something in your space that brings you pleasure, that calls you back.

Here is a snapshot of the bulletin board in my studio, above my little shrine.

Then, abandon all thoughts of where you want to go, and start where you are, each day. Identify the roles that are important to you (chef, painter, mother, calligrapher, walker, writer, etc.) and find time for them in your calendar each week. Give yourself the pleasure of notating in your calendar when you do show up, and this will increase your ability. Hold yourself accountable. You can do this on your own, or have a friend that has the same desire, and hold each other accountable by having a formal time to talk each week.

Dream with your hands. Pray with your hands. You can be transformed by a shift in perspective. Physical objects and spaces have their presences. Your space will be enlivened by your resolve to be there. As children we knew “…how to be still and watchful, so as to bring just the right people and creatures toward us…”,* as adults and makers, we can do this too. Let your imagination fill the room with presences.

The creative life is not a straight line. There is no map for making, only an orientation. It’s a poetic, unpredictable spiral. It’s the discipline of returning to the same practices again and again, regardless of circumstance. No matter how flourishing your life as a maker is, or how successful you are, you don’t ever “arrive.” But the reaching for that horizon is what brings us forward, and enlivens us, and frees us from the danger of indifference, pessimism and depression. It is never too late. Participation in creation carries all the possibility inherent in a shift in perspective, and is visible now, in the night sky.

A brave candling theory

                I’m making for you,

                                little lamplight, believe,

and ripple out free

                as shimmer is.  Go.

                                Don’t go.  Go.

— Mark Doty, from Nocturne in Black and Gold

(The note you can see on my bulletin board is from this astonishing poem by Mark Doty. It is long and worth reading over and over).

How are you experiencing this turning time? I’d love to hear from you. I will get back to you on Jan 2, I am on retreat! Blessings on your new year.

* Joseph Campbell