The Light in the Darkness

In early December, I bring in spruce and cypress boughs to celebrate the living world in the rising darkness.The evergreen tree is a winter miracle, growing in my cold and gray world. For several years we tried to dig up the small cedar trees in our field, keeping all the roots intact and carefully transplanting them, with their native soil, into large pots. We took a week to slowly acclimate them to the warm house and we kept them indoors only through the solstice, replanting them, with the newborn light, soon after Christmas. But with all the planning, only one survived to plant in front of our house. So now I cut a branch on a tree near the house, promising her that it is only a little trim. I drape the greens around a candle in the window and make a garland around the advent candles on our table. Life when so much of the world is tired and barren.

Every evening I light candles in a dark room. A small light in the dark winter. One more candle each week. Midwifing the birth of the sun. Perhaps it is easier to feel the dominance of the night when you live in deep country. Away from the city, with no ambient light, the rising dark covers everything, dominates everything. For country folk, most of us farmers, living with hours of darkness, quiet and immense black and star-filled sky means time for Reflection. Quiet. Clarity. And with that comes Peace.

After years of raging against the machine and pointing an accusing finger, I am done. And I realize that I have hardly been consistent with my politics, with my own actions, no matter how aware I may try to sound. We have all done our part to dig ourselves in even deeper. Marching and protesting made me feel good... being among comrades. But the first Earth Day was in 1972 and since then the threats to our biodiversity, forests, food and water, our freedom and equality, our health, our sense of well being, our survival as a species... you name it... have become dire.

No more waiting or hoping.

Every evening I light the candles in a dark room to remind myself to “be the change you want to see...” No government can/will do anything to save us. The threats to life have only been ramped up even more. The true darkness is the hopelessness and loss, it is all pervasive, even in the daylight. And a strong sense of community has not stopped the flow of oil, of poverty, of desperate immigrants, of the release of methane, the melting ice, repression, depletion and degradation. It is now up to each of us to live with intention, as simply and as close to the earth as we can. Without lecturing. Without feeling self-righteous. Perhaps we will not change many but we can try to encourage some while not letting ourselves lapse into despair. Perhaps it will be enough.

I light the candles in a dark room as the solstice approaches. It is a birthing ritual for the sun, yes, but also a ritual I need, a reminder that this is a time for reflection, for time out. And for planning. If I don't pull within during the darkest time, I will not have the energy or the insight to become expansive in the spring. I light the candles in the dark room as a pledge, to be honest with myself and truthful with others. To do no harm. To create a safe haven, a sanctuary. To stay present. To listen harder. To act with intention. To shine my own light into the darkness no matter how faint it might be.

In a previous lifetime, Zia Gallina worked as a botanist for the National Parks Service, on the C&O Canal outside of Washington D.C. (lecturing on wild indigenous and naturalized medicinal and culinary plants). She was also an adjunct professor teaching biology and environmental science at American University, Washington D.C. But she has always been a champion of small-scale biointensive farming, tagging behind Mother Nature, trying to stay as close as she can get.

Photograph, design and layout by Tanya D. Fox

All Hallows Eve