Praise the Season of Darkness

by Circle of Trust Facilitator Karen Erlichman, LCSW

The seasons of my Philadelphia childhood live in my bones. In Northern California, where I live now, winter is very different than the demanding East Coast winters of my cellular memory. Here, the vague turning of the seasons from fog to rain requires a deeper commitment to praise. Without the indisputable visual reminders of fall colors or snow’s stunning arrival, I have to dig a little deeper to find my praise, to coax my soul out of hibernation.

During my Circle of Trust Facilitator Preparation, I would arrive at the Fetzer Institute in Kalamazoo to greet the season with the unabashed joy of a gleeful toddler. Winter in Kalamazoo called my seasonal childhood memories out of hiding with no mercy. I would  touch the snow, eat the snow, listen to the snow, watch it fall through the enormous windows of our meeting room.

In fact, what was supposed to be our fall retreat session ended up being Winter, Part One. So much for autumn metaphors. Winter's unexpected early arrival was so magnificent, it did not occur to me NOT to praise its precocious arrival.  Wonder and awe can distract me just as easily as disappointment.

"Praise wet snow falling early," writes poet Denise Levertov in her poem of the same name. Praise the long dark nights of winter, when the sacred holidays of light and miracles take place. Darkness is often associated with negative emotions, or suffering; however, when the winter sky is blue-black, it also offers a royal landscape for the stars to shine. Too much light and things will glare, burn, dry up. Too much darkness and there is withering, lifelessness.

In my private psychotherapy practice, there are cycles of emptiness and times of fullness, not only for my clients but for me as well. There are seasons of abundance punctuated by times when business is slow, quiet, even scarce. I have also come to rely on those dry seasons of darkness as times for spaciousness, rest and reflection. Desiccating is also defined as a process of preservation by removing moisture; even in dryness there is life.

There are also moments when my own personal challenges impact my work responsibilities, moments when I ask myself, "How do you lead when you're in need?"

For example, when I began writing this article, I was about to return home after an unexpected trip back east where not only was it a climatic winter, it was also a time when shadows were cast upon my family, a time that should have been golden. My brother and his wife were expecting their fourth child in February, but this snow angel ended up arriving three months early. It was a huge leap of faith to find our praise when the shadow of death was looming so close, to "praise god or the gods, the unknown, that which imagined us."

Less then two weeks later, I had to cancel all appointments to fly back east again and attend the funeral of my 100-year old grandmother, who died on New Year's Eve.  Now I find myself back in the routine of my everyday life, the emotions and memories of these family visits still fresh. There can be tremendous comfort in the presence of caring people who are willing to simply be supportive, patient, present.  Teachers, therapists, health care providers, or clergy are examples of professional support people whose caring presence can guide us through winter darkness. Even helping professionals need to replenish themselves. During this winter of family challenges and loss, colleagues and beloveds offered me support and compassionate listening. It was also an opportunity to have an authentic human encounter with kindness. Even a few clients said things like, "Remember to take care of yourself just as you have taught me."

We trust in the cycle of the seasons, even if we don't know precisely how or when they will reveal themselves to us. We journey the seasons of our lives, from birth to death, one new beginning and ending after another.

Whether one is a spiritual seeker, confirmed skeptic, or faithful believer, there is an invitation to consider that someone or something imagined us before we could imagine ourselves. There were seasons of the unknown before we were born. In our daily life we visit the mystery, whether willingly or willfully, as spiritual director Gerald May has written.

Perhaps there is comfort in the idea of a mystery that imagined me, or my grandma, or my baby niece, before any of us could imagine ourselves. Whether experienced as a philosophical, theological, or existential possibility, the simple fact of turning the corner into 2011 reminds me that there is some kind of current, a proverbial river,  that moves us along on the journey of our lives, season to season.

Levertov refers to this in the closing of her poem, praising "flow and change, night and the pulse of day." This winter, my intention is to practice a new definition of praise as being fully present to what is, with all of who I am, encountering the seasonal unknowns with wonder.

How might you express praise for what winter is offering you right now?

What possibilities of spring are already imagining you before you can imagine yourself?

Please share your reflections on our blog.