Dark is Comfort
Jeanette Winterson wrote an article in The Guardian some years ago called Why I Adore the Night. It is a beautiful read about winter and the loss of light bringing different opportunities. It made me think about how the dark holds us and slows us. An ancient pattern. A place of rest, not just night-time fears that might swallow us whole if we let our minds follow them whilst we wait for the day to come back. And maybe that is the real fear - it’s harder to hide from ourselves in the long winter hours. Electric lights might allow us to keep busy, but this year, with (at least whilst I write this) bars and cafes and shops closed, there is no neon buzz to be found in the outside world. No shopping to the sound of Christmas hits, no whiling away the hours surrounded by people, no feeling the city brightly alive as you travel home on the last tube, weary, ears ringing with music that has stopped but stays somehow. We are turned back home in a new way. But there’s this ‘maybe’ I keep feeling… maybe we can find new warmth in this. Some extra Christmas. And this year, we have seen so much good in people – given half a chance to do something for others most people are there. Ready.
I know it will be harder for some than for others. So much is dependent on your temperament and situation. I am a terrible party guest – I do love people but - the fear of not knowing what to say has kept me away from many in the past – so I don’t mind this retreat so much. The quiet of a lit fire, or the gentleness of a well-placed lamp, a book, not talking – I like them. They feel like the time-to-sit-down-at-the-end-of-the-day feeling of ‘no more jobs’. (If you need some lightness, James Acaster talking about ‘no more jobs’ – ‘you get in bed, you turn off the light and you shout no more jobs’ is a brilliant thing.)
The Celtic day began and ended at sunset, and so too the year which began around the start of what we call November and there’s something about the dark coming first that shifts its value. And without contrast there would be no joy in the other. We love the light because of the dark, we love the spring because the winter can feel like forever. But maybe we have shifted a bit too much to preferring the light. It makes all our ‘doing’ easier. But we can turn our attentions. And when I write this all out I wonder how we don’t really really enjoy the sinking in deep of the dark. Until relatively recently in the life of human beings, we didn’t sleep in 8 hour chunks. In the winter we went to bed early, not much else to do with no artificial light, waking a few hours later to spend quiet time before going back to sleep until the morning. And whilst insomnia is an awful thing – when it will not let up - there is great delight in being awake when everyone else is sleeping, I find. Secret time to read/write/drink tea/watch/think. No interruptions.
But restless nights are not what I wish for anyone. What I hope is that, wherever you are reading this, you are comfortable, safe, warm, surrounded by lights and decorations and good food. That you have found tv that you love to watch and find yourself humming carols. Maybe you love winter – all the coats and scarves and hats and Christmas feelings. Maybe you are affected by SAD and wish it away. I can’t know from here, but I do care. And so, I wanted to share what I do when I am casting about for more comfort, more Christmas, in the dark. Lists of 3 things to watch, read and listen to. I hope they bring you something good.
To watch
Heima – Sigur Ros (the film made with this album is beautiful – Icelandic winter)
The Box of Delights (‘the wolves are running’ and the deep snow of the old BBC adaptation are special to me)
Carols from Kings (I know that not everyone is religious – I am not, though I was brought up Catholic and the sound of voices in a church sounds like safety to me)
To read
The Snow Goose – Paul Gallico
The Little Stranger – Sarah Waters
Christmas Days – Jeanette Winterson
To listen to
Fleet Foxes’ album Fleet Foxes
Kate Rusby’s album Angels and Men
Surfjan Steven’s album Songs for Christmas singalong
And lastly, remember to go outside. In the daytime of course, but, if it is safe, after dark too. Pull the curtains closed, put on lamps. And then put on your coat and shoes and maybe pull a family member with you, and walk, round the block or village or garden and come back in. Being out in the dark is fun (I have read the Owl who is Afraid of the Dark with all it’s chapters, Dark Is…) and maybe you’ll glimpse the evening life of others, but the best bit is coming back home.
Genevieve Dutton
If you liked this post, you might also like Swimming Through Winter and Thinking Wider