Winter Solstice

The winter solstice arrived last Saturday, the longest night and the shortest day, marking the year’s quiet turning point. For me, it is not a time to dwell on what has been or might come but an invitation to rest in the turning itself—a subtle shift that is always happening.

As the earth tilts toward the light, I remember that life is a seamless flow of transformation. Nothing is ever truly left behind. This breath becomes the next; the last note of a song lingers in silence, shaping what follows. Winter’s stillness, far from being a pause, embodies life continuously unfolding.

I reflect on the year not as a ledger of gains and losses but as an opportunity to be fully present in this body with this breath. The solstice reminds me that the past and future arise, meet, and dissolve within this moment. The story I call “this year” or “my life” is not separate from the unfolding of the stars, the flowing of the rivers, or the gentle expansion of darkness into light.

Solstice can be a reminder: this moment, whether heavy or light, clear or clouded, is already complete. In its completeness, there is nothing to add or take away.