Lights in the dark

Lights in the dark. That's the heart of our seasonal celebrations, and that's why I feel that our festivities are ill-timed. The solstice may be the longest night, but I'm not sure that it's the darkest. The colder it gets, the darker darkness becomes, and we won't reach the coldest part of winter for at least another handfull of weeks. That's why I feel that the entire period between the solstice and Imbolc (at least) should be dedicated to lights. Big lights, small lights, twinkly lights, steady beacons of light -- we need them now.

I particularly need them. My depression is rearing its ugly tentacles again, and lights in the dark are all that I have to keep me going. Lights in the dark may not make the darkness go away, but they give us hope. They give me hope, something to tie a string around to carry me through the night. And I need that. My soul weeps for some light, some hope, but I can't find any in myself right now. All I can do is try to set my internal rudder by the compass of those lights which I can find outside. For that reason, I think I will try to leave up those Yule decorations which give off light. Perhaps bringing more lights into my living space will help.

There are metaphorical lights in the dark, too: my husband, music (and singing along therewith), any crafting I can manage. Creating things always serves to shed light, but it is difficult to draw forth from myself anything that feels worthwhile when I can't seem to find anything worthwhile inside myself. Dragging anything up from the depths when I feel like this is like pouring molasses -- sticky and slow and I'm not sure if I'll ever be clean again when I'm done. But in the end, it's worth it. Without molasses you can't make gingerbread cookies, and without excavating beauty from the depression, how can I ever make sense of it to find my way out again?