Winter Solstice: Returning to the Light
Dear friends,
At the turning of the season, when night stretches to its longest reach, we find ourselves in the heart of winter. The Solstice is the darkest day of the year—yet it is also the threshold. This is the moment when the light begins to return.
Mary Oliver writes, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.” Even in the quiet months, even when the days feel heavy—joy still finds us. The Solstice reminds us that light is born from darkness, not separate from it.
Here, on these 106 acres of forest and field, we feel that turning deeply. The trees stand bare and resolute, the soil holds quiet beneath the cold, and the meadow rests. The land is showing us: darkness is not the end. It is a necessary passage. A sacred pause. A slow inhale before the exhale of spring.
For over five decades, the Whidbey Institute has been a place where people come to do this kind of work—inner work, communal work, the kind of deep listening that is seldom possible in the wide noise of the world. We are, and have always been, a sanctuary where transformation can unfold. People arrive carrying questions, hopes, fears, stories, and grief. Our task is to hold a steady container. To offer land, space, and community as quiet companions.
The work that happens here may look gentle—someone walking slowly beneath the cedars, a circle gathered in the Sanctuary, a shared meal held with care—but what moves in those moments is profound. Courage is rekindled. Grief softens. Clarity emerges. Bonds strengthen. And then, people go back out—into their families, neighborhoods, and communities—with renewed capacity to meet the world as it is, and to help shape what it can become. This is how we change the world - together.
This is how light returns. Not all at once, but in small, steady renewals of heart.
As the year comes to a close, we invite you to notice what is shifting in your own inner landscape. What has the darkness taught you? What has it allowed you to release, to rest, or to see differently? And what faint light is beginning to stir now, ready to be tended?
A Reflection For You
What rituals do you carry—quiet or shared—
that help you welcome the returning light?
What do you do to honor the gifts of the dark?
You might journal, light a candle, walk in silence, sing, sit at your table with someone you love,
or simply stand beneath the night sky and breathe.
However you mark this turning, may it be gentle. May it be true.
May the returning light find you ready.
