Welcoming Darkness: A Seasonal Sermon for Your Soul
I’ve noticed that when I don’t pause to name the seasonal shift that is happening — to take a moment to consciously say, “Nature is transitioning from summer to fall. I am transitioning from summer to fall. Nature is going darker, and I’m being called to go darker too” — I feel off. Disconnected. A little depressed.
That happened a couple of weeks ago. A low-grade heaviness settled over me, and I realized it was because I hadn’t aligned myself with the rhythm of fall — with the call to turn inward, to honor the dark.
As soon as I named it, a peace washed over me. I felt my rhythm click back into place — back home to myself, to my soul, to God, to nature.
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, darkness is our new normal. The days are shorter. The nights are longer.
I used to deeply fear the dark. I felt the transition from day to night in my bones — and I resisted it, especially when I was alone. The dark is the unknown. It is mystery. It is psyche. It is soul. Over the past 13 years, I have reclaimed my relationship with darkness and have come to treasure its sacred energies and magic.
We live in a society obsessed with light — a culture that expects us to be on, to live in perpetual summer. But that’s not how nature operates. And it’s not how we operate either, for we are descendants of nature herself.
Embracing darkness is now one of my superpowers. I’m not afraid to go there — into the realms of mystery, grief, pain, uncertainty, dreams, psyche, and soul. I have come to learn that traveling to the unseen places within me become where I feel most deeply seen.
In his absolutely gorgeous book Waking Up to the Dark, Clark Strand writes:
“The darkness has a gospel to relate: The point of life has little to do with the getting and spending that occupies the greater portion of our days. If we want to know the real value of life—not the monetary or social value—we have to wake up in the middle of the night and see what is happening in the dark. Are there dreams and visions? Are there symbols and signs? Is the night palpable with hopes and longings, pregnant with information and desires? Can we hear the peepers in the woods? The quiet of the snowfall? The rise and fall of someone’s breath? Or is our impulse to turn on the lights, to watch television, or medicate ourselves back into unconsciousness?
The daylight realm teaches us that we are here to fulfill our human ambitions… But maybe all we are supposed to do is keep the lights off in the middle of the night.”
The Potency of Naming What’s Happening
There is a potency and a power in naming what’s happening real time — in this case, naming that we are transitioning from a season of more light to a season of more darkness. (I wrote about it here.) Naming can unlock something within the psyche. It can begin to untangle what has been gnarled, twisted, or bound up inside. And, in this case, it can help us have a kind of inner momentum to transition from one season to another.
So, in honor of our collective transition into fall, I want to offer you a guided Thought Detachment Meditation.
This practice is simple, but it’s also wild and alive. It asks us to observe what’s lurking in the dark — the thoughts hiding in plain sight — and to witness them without trying to fix, change, avoid, or repress. It can help us to psychologically differentiate ourselves from thoughts and feelings — to feel more detached from all thoughts, so that you can have access to the possibility of choice available to you at all times.
It’s a sacred practice I’ve been doing daily in honor of this season of darkness. May it meet you where you are, and may it serve you well.
A Closing Blessing
The dark is not here to take your light away — it’s here to teach you how to see in new ways. As the earth turns inward, may you too find comfort in slowing down, listening deeply, and trusting the wisdom of the dark. I’ll be practicing alongside you — meeting my own thoughts in the dark, breathing with them, and remembering that every shadow is sacred. May you rest into the darkness, and may it show you what’s been waiting to be seen.
With care,
Heather
