How to Fall, How to Winter
By mercy eltu
Sometimes, we’re hesitant about the coming of fall and winter. They’re not flashy. Gone are the easy heat and liveliness of spring and summer, and we spend more time indoors. Warmth becomes precious, savored in fireplaces and cozy stews. Even with small treats to honor the passing equinox – visiting the golden aspens at Drala, preparing a steaming mug of hot chocolate to celebrate the first snow – these seasons can be hard. There is a call to be present with the interiors of not only our homes and relationships, but our minds and bodies.
The Seasons Mirror Our Lives
In many cultures, the seasonal cycle corresponds to life stages. Our childhood is spring, our youth summer, our older adulthood fall, and our elderly years winter. Each season teaches us about the phases of our lives in microcosm. As colder seasons near, we take stock of our spring and summer life stages, and “moments”–all these cushion us for the spiritual “long sits” of fall and winter, when we are invited to be less active, more contemplative. In the words of John Keats:
“quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.”
As our “wings furleth close” for fall and winter, we have an opportunity for “idleness”–not “laziness,” but meaningful rest and observation. This form of idleness is sanctioned by nature, and every fall and winter is an opportunity to embrace it anew.
I first came to Drala Mountain Center in the “early summer” of my life. I was 24. It was an electric gathering of young people–full of ideas and fervors. Even during silent mornings and in the meditation tent, there was a sense of pulsating youthfulness, of voltage, as consistent as the green humidity and frog ribbits that surrounded us. Though we all had some experience and natural temperament for meditation, most of us had the typical young-adult relationship with the world–urgency, experimentation, grandeur. The essential challenge of meditation–to still our bodies, still our thoughts–was that much harder in our season of life.
Reflections on Wintering
Meditation itself is a winter-like sport. The mental or emotional experience of it can vary, but its essential idea–stop, be still–is a “wintering” action. In the words of Katherine May, “Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience, and wisdom resides in those who have wintered.” Meditation is hard in the way winter is hard, even for experienced practitioners: being still with where you are, and what you have, is a challenge in a world that relentlessly tells us where to go, what to do, and what to get. Meditation, and winter, are opportunities for us to make peace with what really is, over and over. “We may never choose to winter,” Katherine May writes, “but we can choose how.”
I’m still in my summer years, but periods of “wintering” punctuate my life even as it is presently characterized by blazing passions and adventures. As I face fall and winter, I know just how meaningful its stillness, its “nothingness,” will be. It’s a time to be home, curl up with fuzzy and warm things, let go, and rest.
At the same time, I’m afraid of slowing down. I’m so engaged with my experiences and projects, and I’m not even sure how to let go and rest! Perhaps you can relate. Maybe you have a demanding job, a family to care for, or creative or spiritual undertakings that you both covet and avoid. You might be unfamiliar with “wintering,” or unsure as to how to give it a go. We know fall and winter can be as much tests of our fortitude as they are opportunities for real rest–but where to start?
The Practice of Rest
The experience of real rest is directly tied to the environment, and often, the quality of other people’s presence. Many of us, like me, seek out retreat because we want to be around other people who value the labors of meditation, silence, and rest so absent in mainstream Western culture. It sounds oxymoronic to say “it’s hard work to rest”–but in much of the modern world, it takes work to meaningfully rest. It’s not a given.
Not only does practicing in community change lives and deepen practice, but the land at Drala constantly demonstrates the stillness and ease we seek for our minds and bodies. Whether it’s waking up to a golden dawn with red trees and crisp air, or sleeping among soft winds and shimmering stars, Drala welcomes us back to the simple cycles of life, as simple as day and night. This is all to say that a change of social and physical environment, and a change of pace–slowing down as a community and stepping into fresh, slow nature–is what we need to really rejuvenate, really rest, really “winter.”
This slowing down and change in rhythm shapes the retreats at Drala this fall. Mid-October programs including Yoga and Nature and Grounding Within immerse us in the “wintering” arts of doing less and returning to center. The mid-November Wisdom of the Body retreat invites us to wander, be silent, and take sacred naps; that same weekend Learn to Meditate teaches the basics of holding and accepting the events of our lives and our emotions.
If you’re wanting to winter (Katherine May is right, it should be a verb), fall and winter programs at DMC provide the tools, guidance, and companionship to not only brave the colder seasons, but open to their quiet insights and stark beauty. The seasons need not just pass us by–they connect us to stages and energies that shape our lives. If we embrace the chill, cozy up, and practice in community, fall and winter can offer us unusual and profound treasures to deepen our experience of every season of life.