Permission to Hibernate

As the nights grew longer, I just didn’t have the energy I was used to having. When the sun finally set at 4:30 pm, I was ready for bed. I thought maybe something was wrong with me and explained to a friend that I just wanted let go of all externalities, to make myself very small, pull a blanket over my head and read a book by flashlight. That image brought the “aha” of insight -- this is what the hibernating animals looked like in the children’s book I had been reading. Some instinctual knowing had responded to the dwindling daylight and growing cold with a primal wisdom about seasonal change, and how we mammals survive the winter.  

Modern humans often assume that because we have electric lights and indoor heating seasonal change doesn’t affect us. But year after year I have a subtle feeling of anxiety as fall turns to winter, a sense that “I’ll never get it all done” and a desire to lay it all down and hibernate. As I observe this pattern year after year -- the winter drive towards interiority -- I have begun to reframe this cycle not as a failure to keep the pace of the fall, but as a rhythm uniquely suited for winter that has it’s own value. What if there is wisdom in those pre-industrial instincts? It makes sense in the dark and the cold season to make our world a bit smaller, a bit warmer, to be less physically active as we conserve energy in a season with less light, to consume what we have harvested already, rather than start growing new things.

I write this from a region that expects cold, snow and ice in winter. Perhaps you are reading this somewhere else. The spiritual practice is to notice the natural seasons wherever you are right now- really notice the light, the air, the temperature, the moisture. Notice the critters who live near you and their behavior, notice the plants and their seasonal changes. Then notice yourself- are you experiencing changes in body mind or spirit? Are your habits and routines different than they were in the summer?

Right now, my inner bear has decided to hibernate. It looked around at the cold and dark and knew just what the season demanded. When I Imagine the activities of fall, of rushing around gathering and building and harvesting, I feel exhausted and discouraged. When I Imagine holing up on my comfy couch under a wool throw and catching up on my reading, it feels just right. We industrials have the idea that we should be able to keep a steady pace of work all year round, but sometimes that denies the wisdom of living in sync with the rhythms of the body, with the natural world, and with the spirit.

This year, in addition to the always-challenging seasonal transition, we also experienced another resurgence of the pandemic. At the same time I was overwhelmed with the sad news on all sides, of loved ones dying or sick, of friends’ losses and worries. This season of the spirit asks for a pulling in and hunkering down, a winter of the spirit as well as of nature. Some inner wisdom suggests that if I am spread too thin I can lose myself, lose energy, lose what is important. That image of a warm-blooded animal in a small, insulated space felt possible, felt like I could keep myself, my heart and spirit and body warm. Some of those traditional activities of winter feel just right- reading, storytelling, baking, taking a walk through the snow on a sunny day, then warming myself with a blanket and a hot beverage. What does your body yearn for this season? What does your spirit yearn for?

In spring I imagine we will feel a different kind of shift, as the light grows long and the colors of spring delight the eyes. It helps me to know that this desire to hunker down is not for always, just for this season. As a Spiritual Practice for this month, I invite you to notice the seasonal shifts outside and in, and ask “what am I craving right now, and what would it feel like to try that?” Stay alert for signs of change, attuned to the shifting and emerging rhythms of the seasons and of the spirit. Observing the cycles of nature reminds us that our spirits also have seasons, each with it’s own challenges and gifts, and that no matter how dark and cold the winter, no season lasts forever.