The US Naval Observatory maintains charts that show the length of the day. At this link, you can put in your location, and it will show you how many hours of daylight you have every day. This time of year, where I live, we have about 10 hours of daylight. That means we have full 14 hours of darkness, every day. Other places, north of here, get even less daylight than I do.

Early humans must have wondered, at this time every year, whether or not the life-giving, warmth-giving sun was ever going to come back. That might be the root of early civilizations' efforts in astronomy -- the desire to KNOW that the light would be coming back, and when.

This is a time of stilling, of sleeping, of growing cold, of quietness. It is the yin to our yang. This time of silence is not particularly to the taste of the average modern American, who prefers noise, parties, and the eternal busy-ness of our modern civilization. But it is an integral part of light. No heat without cold, no day without night, no summer without winter, no life without death. Two sides of the same coin.

We as a nation are also descending into a form of darkness. The economic situation is causing fear and concern everywhere. I am without a job myself and some days find it difficult to get out of bed and do something productive. After all, what's the point of looking for a job when there are no jobs to be had?

There are two ways we can handle this growing psychic and physical darkness. We can despair, and give up hope, and give up trying. Some days this certainly seems easiest. But, this "contracting" time of the year is necessary for our natural planet; it is part of our rhythms. So too does this contracting economy, I believe, hold some higher purpose, some pattern or meaning which will become apparent as we move into it. Ending times are necessary for new beginnings. Loss is necessary to bring new things into the world. Now, in this time of change, it's important not to despair, not to shut down, but to remain open to possibilities despite the fear and cold and quiet.

This year when I attend the annual Solstice celebration, in the middle of the ceremony we will sit together, silent, as all the lights go out. To me, that is the essence of Solstice -- sitting in a dark and quiet room, and waiting and patiently hoping. Then there are pinpoints of light, and more, and more. A blazing festival of lights in the darkness, of hope and promise of something new at this quiet and barren time of year. That is where we are going.

Keep the faith. Oooga Booga Smooga Wooga!