The Winter Solstice, also known as Yule, is the most sacred pause of the year. It arrives quietly, wrapped in darkness, asking us not to rush forward but to go inward. It is the longest night, the moment when the sun appears to stand still, reminding us that stillness itself is a form of wisdom.
Yule is not about absence of light—it is about the promise of its return. Deep within the dark soil of winter, something ancient stirs. The days are short, the air is sharp, and nature rests, yet this is precisely where rebirth begins. The light does not vanish; it retreats so it can be renewed. Spiritually, the Winter Solstice mirrors our inner journey. We are invited to sit with our shadows, not to fear them, but to understand them. The darkness we encounter during this time is not an enemy—it is a teacher.
As Marianne Williamson so powerfully reminds us:
Until we have met the monsters in ourselves, we will keep trying to slay them in the outer world. For all darkness in the world stems from darkness in the heart. And it is there we must do our work.
Yule teaches us this truth gently but firmly. The work is internal. It always has been. When we dare to face our fears, wounds, and unspoken truths, we stop projecting them outward. We stop fighting shadows and begin transforming them into wisdom. Traditionally, Yule was celebrated with fire—candles, hearths, the Yule log—symbols of hope, endurance, and continuity. Lighting a candle on the longest night is a sacred act: it says I trust the light will return, even if I cannot yet see it.
This season asks us:
- What am I ready to release?
- What truth am I finally willing to face?
- What new light wants to be born within me?
Winter is not a punishment; it is preparation. Just as the earth rests before blooming, we too are allowed to slow down, to reflect, to heal. There is profound beauty in honoring cycles rather than resisting them. Yule reminds us that light is strongest when it emerges from darkness. And so are we.
As the sun begins its slow return, may you meet yourself with compassion. May you honor both your shadows and your brilliance. And may the quiet magic of the Winter Solstice whisper to you what you already know deep within: the light has never left—it has simply been waiting for you to be ready to see it again.
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