The Moment the SOL stands STILL

I woke up yesterday morning to see the last full moon of the solar year (the Cold Moon) still hanging in the sky. At 5 a.m., the dark was still unpenetrable but for the silver light raining down from Grandmother Moon. A few hours later, as the daylight begins to emerge, I know that the darkness will recapture today surprisingly quick, and once again, Grandmother will reveal herself once more but for a little piece she'll cloak until January.

I adore this time of year. In one short week, we'll reach what the Celts called Midwinter (did you know that in the Celtic calendar, winter begins November 1?). The Winter Solstice. The moment the "sol stands still."

Sol, of course, means sun, but as the days wain, I've been contemplating the idea of a moment when the SOUL stands still. Is it, in fact, possible or even desirable?

When our sun hangs for that one moment seemingly unmoving, we know that it is a constantly throbbing orb of fire. In every moment there is the pulsation of expansion and contraction. Likewise, even in the stillest, quietest moment, even in the deepest meditation, our spirit dances with the delight of this divine and playful dance.

Last year, I spent the Winter Solstice in Ghana, West Africa. Ghana is so close to the equator that the sun seems to stand still all year. It's either up or down. You miss out on the middle places. Twelve hours of light. Twelve hours of dark. There you go.
You never notice light waining from day to day, or the blessed moment when it begins to make its return. I really missed that.

So, this year, there's that extra relishing. I'm spending extra time savoring the darkness as it grows this week towards the inevitable and equally savory moment that the light begins to recapture the darkness until the cycle starts all over again in June.

The day the SOL stands STILL is a perfect opportunity to create ritual around your own inner renewal; to exhale with the year; to notice the pause; and then, to inhale the light once more.