I’ve always craved warmth and sunlight-especially in times of need. On the summer solstice in 2014, I was studying with my favorite teacher, Shiva Rea, on the island of Santorini in Greece. On that day, we trekked up Skaros, a large rock formation on the west coast of the island, so that we’d have and unobstructed view of the sun for our solstice meditation. We set up facing west, Shiva gave us a mantra, and we began.
At this time, I was dealing with very difficult emotions and issues in my life. The Grecian sun and Aegean sea had been very soothing to me the previous week as I wrested with these things, but it had reached a point where nothing could fully harbor my attention.
I tried to stay just with the mantra, but my mind was unable to focus. I was sitting at a crossroad in my life, knowing that a decision I was wrestling with would change the entire trajectory of what I’d do, who I’d become, and my emotional landscape. With each breath, I bathed in increasingly golden light, softly chanting, hoping a concrete answer would come to me. In that moment of greatest light and highest energy, there was only a small seed of knowing the difficulty the coming darkness would bring, especially embarking on that journey alone for the first time in nearly a decade. At that time, being in the warmth and light made it easier to consider a risk, change, emotional pain. I made a choice. From day moment on, the light began to wane, and I embarked on an increasingly dim path.
It has been a beautiful and terrifying jaunt into the shadows, which I, at times, resisted very strongly. This was often warranted, because I really wasn’t ready emotionally. But, more and more, I experimented with “the only way out is through”. And truly, I went through some things- but that’s another blog post entirely.
As the second summer solstice approached, I realized there was a part of me that wanted some coldness, that wanted some darkness. It was a transformative summer-the best one I’ve ever had. Yet I found myself craving coolness, turning inward, and finally embracing the dark.
A few days ago, a friend mentioned his interest in going into a sensory deprivation tank, as a new place had opened up nearby. I am claustrophobic, afraid of the dark, and don’t like being out of control. Or, rather, I’ve historically defined myself as being these things. In that moment, I was struck with a different understanding of what I am- without fear, speculation, or hesitation, I and called and booked an appointment. I was ready.
For those of you who don’t know, a sensory deprivation tank is literally a tank of super dense salt water (which allows one to float) with a lid to cut out all light. Earplugs are provided. It’s marketed as a very relaxing experience, but I’ve always been far more interested in what the mind might create with no external stimulation- a totally dark canvas, ready to be painted with the electricity of the mind. The thing is, what comes out is what’s there- one’s mindset affects what one sees. Here’s how I felt just before:
Upon arrival, the tank was much bigger than I anticipated, and had a light inside:
I disrobed, took a shower, and placed my ear plugs in, which initially felt very jarring- I’m hyper attuned to sound, and felt less in control, but the shock quickly waned. I entered the tank and was surprised by how dense the water really was. The light was dim and soothing (Except for the three times I accidentally turned on the strobing function while trying to darken it a little more, and as a result, managed to get stinging salt water in my eyes. I’m terribly curious as to why that feature has not yet been disabled).
During this time, I let myself get accustomed to the sensation of floating, and I let the things in the forefront of my mind run rampant- I bought the ticket, took the ride, and let the damn thing run out of gas. My mind was slowing down, and moving in less predictable directions. Gradually, much like the way the natural world shifts to shorter days, I closed the lid more and more. Finally, I all but shut it. I turned off the light.
I was surprised by how calm I felt- I really expected I’d have a more dramatic story to tell. The gentle transition made it feel like a womb- a safe place to incubate, to be held while on a journey, to explore. In this release, strange images started flickering in my mind. Questions arose. Some darker things began to come out of my mind and let me know they were still there. I stayed with it. It seems the real journey had just begun when music softly started to play, indicating that the 90 minutes was up.
I emerged slowly. Pressing the lid up gently, I let the blueish light pour in and bathe me. I washed off the salty water; redressed; put on sunglasses. And then, I walked out into the bright sunlight, and smiled a little bit-I’m okay in the light, and I’m okay in the dark. There’s still a lot of darkness for me to explore and release into, but I honor and appreciate this further initiation of moving into, moving through, rather than pulling away. Knowing that it can’t last forever, that it’s getting a little brighter, makes all of the difference.
In ancient times, I can understand why the celebration of the winter solstice had so much gravitas- sure, you could light some candles, but there were no guarantees, and the scope of illumination was much more limited on a non-festival day. I had to work to find true darkness, and was able to ease into it. I can only imagine the joy and hope that came into understanding that the light would begin to return for people who experienced continued darkness.
So, today, and for the winter as a whole, I ask you, dear reader-
What does darkness feel like for you?
How do you embrace it?
How do you celebrate the solstice?
Being & Becoming 