Solstice and the Climate Crisis
How observing the Winter Solstice strengthens us in the face of the climate crisis.
This year has been a very difficult awakening for me, as I finally reached an immediate and painful understanding about our world, the climate, and the future. The long warning of global warming is now well on its way, already changing the climate (as it has been for decades if not centuries). Not only are we in a climate crisis of our own making, we are accelerating now down a path that leads only to destruction and collapse.
New phrases have entered the mainstream discourse as well: climate crisis, climate emergency, species extinction, fisheries collapse, climate refugee, coral bleaching, ice shelf calving. On and on, we have learned new ways to describe the details of the destruction of our home.
As we make our way into the winter season of holidays, I would certainly welcome a period of respite, a break from thoughts of turning points, species loss, quickly degrading oceans, nothing less than the fundamental unraveling of the natural world around us. The climate crisis is pervasive and persistent in my mind; it seems to worsen with each day, sometimes at each moment.
Winter Solstice is my holiday of choice in December. Well, less of a holiday, more of a remembrance: it is a reminder that we are tied to the natural world, part of it, integrated and connected. It recalls to me the cycles of birth, old age, sickness, death, and rebirth: endings, beginnings, turnings, renewals.
In winter, the Earth itself can appear lifeless, dead; days grow shorter and shorter. In truth, the Earth simply lies dormant; the seeds to birth a new season of life are already planted and germinating, quietly awaiting the warming days and longer visits from the sun. In these seeds lie the possibilities of a new year, they gently whisper of the potential that can take root and flourish.
Can you hear it? A call, a song, a hope, a message from the cold, dark season: look inward, quieten and connect with your inner world, cultivate fertile loamy soil, plant your seeds, protect and nurture them, prepare them for growth in the days and months to come.
This practice is difficult these days; turning inward I find so much pain and grief linked to the climate crisis, the ongoing mass extinction, the suffering (now and to come) of those impacted by our changing world. I am haunted by how much has already disappeared, what is on the precipice, and all that is certain to be lost. This pain and grief no longer let me ignore the reality of the world around me. They provide a wake-up call and constant reminder: WE ARE IN CLIMATE CRISIS.
I can no longer look away, and so, in this season of reflection, I look further inward.
Past my pain and grief, deeper within, lies shame. I am saddened and embarrassed by my flippant attitude and selfish actions over these long years. Like the governments of the world, like the oil companies, I *knew* that the earth was warming, that indigenous people were being marginalized and killed, that my lifestyle was toxic and came at the expense of the lives of others. And I did nothing. I said nothing.
If pain and grief serve as a reminder of the climate crisis, then shame, too, has a role to play, a vitally important function to fill: it shows us when we have acted out of step with our values. Shame can be a guide, reminding us of our better nature, who we hope to be, who we actually *are* when we connect with ourselves.
As my inward gaze looks deeper, I find another powerful force: anger. Unlike shame, my anger is not focused on myself, it is directed towards the rightful recipients: the companies, politicians, and insanely wealthy people who can see nothing past their own quarterly statements, re-elections, and pushing the limits of their personal wealth at the expense of the very air we breathe, the water we drink, the land which sustains and nourishes us, and the unique and exquisite abundance of life on this planet. They sacrifice it all for a dollar. My anger at them burns because without their meddling and sustained campaigns pushing for ever increasing consumption of fossil fuels and for never-ending economic growth, we who benefit from this system would have done the right thing to correct our behavior toward the Earth long ago. We have that in us, the power to do right, even now as the world begins to melt, we have that power.
Deeper past the anger, lies something quiet and energetic, like a bee busy feeding the hive: hope. There is hope under it all, if I listen closely and honor who I am and what I believe. It is not a wistful “hoping” hope, but an active hope which urges us to action: this is an important and necessary thing that must be done.
Hope is the seed of change within me.
Anger gives me energy for action.
Shame is the path to my values and beliefs.
Pain and grief are bitter sweet blooms, reminders of what needs to be done.
I encourage you to look inwards in these dark, winter nights of potential. Look inward, look to your values and dreams for the future. What will you find within?
