12/15/2025
I tell myself that we are taught the dark is something to fear.
Remember those books, “Who’s Afraid of the Dark?” They were scary stories meant to frighten.
I imagine that as long as there is a story that the dark is to be feared, we miss out on miracles that are birthed from the dark.
In the fall, acorns fall to the ground, and the ones that are buried in the dark earth and survive through the winter will grow into mighty oak trees.
I imagine that many of us have experienced times like these—when we find ourselves in a new situation or something in our life changes. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. This is when we are in the dark.
We aren’t sure which way is up and which way is down. The dark is the place in between what once was and what is yet to come.
We can create the story that it’s bad to be in the dark. But we could also create a new story.
The story that the dark is the place of new beginnings. We could tell ourselves that in the dark, new possibilities are born—ones we never imagined were possible before. We could imagine that the dark is the place before miracles happen.
“Miracles are often inconvenient.” — Florence Welch
What miracles are you calling in?
I tell myself that miracles live in longing. I imagine that miracles are found in the resistance we feel when what we expected doesn’t happen—because it brings the opportunity for something better. Miracles are birthed in the dark.
The longest night of the year is upon us—the Winter Solstice. It is a night of darkness. A night where we can plant our intentions for what we long to grow as the light returns.
My intention is to honor this long night—to honor the dark and the miracles that will grow as the light returns.
On this Winter Solstice night, I imagine it is a call back to the old ways. Many of us have ancestors who honored this night and saw it as a sacred time. Some of my ancestors came from Scotland and Ireland—the home of the Celts.
The Celts would gather together as a community for the Winter Solstice. They would tell myths of the Cailleach, the Holly King, and the Oak King. They honored the mischievous spirits who could cross the thinned veil during this time. For them, I imagine it was a time of hope and a remembrance of resilience, as they stood at the midpoint of winter—a season that could be very difficult.
To honor the old ways and gather in the spirit of this sacred evening, I invite you to our Winter Solstice Circle on December 21 from 5–9pm in Cedar Park at Agni Mandir. We’ll gather around the fire for soup and cider, craft a Solstice candle, walk in the light of the spiral, hear the old Celtic myths, and enjoy mischief with a Sídhe gift exchange.
If you feel a call to the old ways and wish to honor the sacred dark, join us—and bring a friend for free! Register by Saturday. Link in comments.
