D A R K N E S S

I am finding my relationship to the dark very different this year. I feel more comfortable with it and am finding my way better.

My walk home from town over the last few weeks has been in the dark. I choose to walk back along the river rather than the road, which is my usual route anyway. However, when this has come up in conversation, it is almost always met with surprise or concern.

“Isn't it dangerous or scary walking back along the river in the dark by yourself?” 

“Dodgy things happen down there in the dark; you need to be careful” 

 ”You've got a good torch though?” 

Well, the answer to all of those has been no, which even to me was a little bit of a surprise for the first couple of times. Mainly because the first couple of days I wasn’t prepared and had forgotten it would be dark by the time I was walking home, so I hadn’t packed a torch. 

I really dislike walking back along the road, especially in the damp, cold, and dark (with fumes/noise/dazzling lights), so I decided not to give in to my fears and let my eyes adjust. I saw it as a good opportunity to walk a little slower and more mindfully.

I feel this is a good metaphor for how I have been exploring life over the last couple of years, although perhaps a little more tentatively! 

Life means facing new challenges and confronting old habits—those neatly packed away feelings that resurface as we age, dealing with the loss of loved ones, versions of ourselves, and children growing up, etc.

Life in all its multifaceted complexities can feel a lot darker and scarier than a walk along the river in the dark!

Since then I have chosen not to use my torch, although I have it with me. 

What I have found is that if I give myself time and take it slowly, I can actually see very well in the dark. I will switch my head torch on when I see other people approaching with torches so that they know I am there and don’t get a shock. Once they have passed, I switch my torch back off, but find my eyes need to adjust again. 

When the torch is on, what is in front of me may be better illuminated, and I can see further, but everything else is sent into deeper darkness.

When I don’t use the torch, I can see well enough in front of me, but I am also able to see better in my peripheral vision.

I feel this is another good metaphor for life. We have been conditioned to have a very narrow focus, only seeing where our torch is pointing, almost always in front.

Always planning for the future, what we want to be doing, what house/car/holidays/savings we will have, what we will be like or look like, etc. Having such a narrow focus however means that we miss what is happening now, all around us, and are unable or unwilling to explore the darkness behind.

I feel I have spent more time immersed in nature books than in nature this year; however, some amazing books have found me, and I am so grateful for the inspiration and insight that these authors have brought. My current read is WILD by Jay Griffiths, and I am gripped, with a weird longing to explore the wild that feels old and new at the same time.

Reading that book this morning was what prompted this blog and the reflections on exploring darkness, which I guess I had been doing anyway, but it all made a bit more sense to me.

I have been quite open over the last few years about finding the winter season harder each year, identifying myself with suffering from S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder).

I feel on reflection, it is more a case of being resistant to the dark instead of leaning into it or even embracing it. Nevertheless, I feel it is more layered than simply resisting the shorter, darker days. I have been exploring the dark in many ways over the last year or so; through slower yoga practices, therapy, meditation and silence. I feel as if my eyes are adjusting to my own darkness; I can see more clearly and am less resistant. The torch metaphorically is a distraction, focusing only on the ‘light’ and shutting everything else off.

Despite exploring Forest Bathing training, I haven’t led many walks other than as part of my day retreats. Writing this, I feel a real desire to encourage others to walk at dusk and in the dark! (The Health & Safety would likely be a nightmare, so perhaps that won’t happen - but do get in touch if it’s something you’d be interested in!)

Nevertheless, the more I reflect on this, the more I feel our yoga practice can be like walking together in the dark landscape of our bodies and emotions. Most of us begin our yoga practice using a torch, so to speak. Drawn to the ‘light’ of a yoga practice like moths to a flame. We’re dazzled with images and articles that promise we’ll feel stronger and more flexible, more relaxed and calm, maybe even be able to do a headstand, and we’ll feel complete.

The longer we practice - in my experience - the less we need a torch.

We start to feel and notice other aspects of the practice that perhaps we hadn’t expected. Sometimes, we are even faced with tightly packed away emotions resurfacing unexpectedly during an asana or during savasana.

We are all walking our own yoga paths—sometimes with the torch on full beam, sometimes in near darkness. Though our paths may cross in class each week, the journey is essentially a personal one. My classes are simply providing you with a guided section of that path for you to explore individually, whether you choose to use a torch or not. 

We’re approaching the Midwinter Solstice, the darkest day of the year. 

I don’t do New Year in January; however, I do plant seeds - intentions, that I will continue to nurture in the dark before celebrating the energy of the New Year in Spring. 

The seed of intention that I will be germinating in this dark phase is that - 

 I’m ditching the torch and trusting myself and the universe from here on out. Recognising the people, news, influencers, politicians and society that want to induce fear, doubt and distraction, for what they are.  I’m permitting myself to see life more clearly - even if it doesn’t make sense to those around me who continue to favour the torch over the darkness. 

Only in the darkness do we fully appreciate the light of the moon!

I am unable to run my annual Winter Solstice session this year; however, I hope you will still mark this time in some way.

Take a walk at dawn or dusk, light a candle, reflect on the year that's coming to a close, feel into the present moment with grace and gratitude and plant seeds (intentions) for the coming year as the light returns.  

Should you wish to explore a Winter Solstice yoga practice, this link provides the Midwinter Practices I offered during COVID, and the links at the end of this Blog are for all the online content that was recorded during that time, should you wish to make use of them before we return to class in January.

For those of you attending classes with me, or planning to start in January, all details will be in the newsletter emailed out shortly or on the website.

So, to close this blog, the last of 2025, I will share the passage from Wild, An Elemental Journey by Jay Griffiths that I read this morning, prompting my reflections and this Blog.

In the forests, you see the tenderness of darkness, how it folds things into itself, nature nurturans, for all good things are cradled in darkness first: seeds and babies, sleep’s dreams and the heart’s love, compost and starlight. “Our roots are in the dark; the earth is our country. Why did we look up for blessings - instead of around and down? What hope we have lies there…..in the dark that nourishes, where human beings grow human souls.”( Ursula Le Guin.)

Wishing you a blessed Yule / Happy Christmas

Om shanti

🙏

Sophia

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