Winter is Water Season

Winter is the season of Water. It is the most Yin of the elements, associated with the Jing, the vital essence stored deep in the Kidneys. This depth is reflected in its association with dark, nearly black blues. Water reminds me of the way a tsubo is like a well, a point of access for connecting to flowing energies deep within us. Water is all around us, as vast as the oceans that surround us. It also exists as the mist we see on winter mornings, as the frost on plants, in the tender complexity of snowflakes. It fills our body, every cell relying on its presence. We talk about it when we use expressions like “off the deep end,” “slippery slope,” or “a fish out of water.” Our words acknowledge Water’s power and also reveal the sometimes-fear with which we confront its immensity. Water is where we come from, it is an origin story many of us can feel when we step into a river or are touched by falling rain.

I have always felt close to Water. As a child the ocean soothed me in a way I couldn’t verbalize; with my head under water I felt my brain slow, I would open my eyes and take in the haze, paddle with arms and legs, transform into a creature that felt somehow more me. These were my first remembered experiences of embodiment, of existing in the present with no pull into the past or future. The ocean was a tireless teacher. Its cold taught me the precious warmth of the sun as I sat drying. Its endless embrace taught me what it meant to be loved in fullness. As an adult now I seek out water whenever I need to come home to myself.

In a book I am reading by writer Pixie Lighthorse, the author shares an experience of falling into a river as a baby, of being rescued by her mother quickly. She connects this experience to the way she relates to her feelings of grief as an adult. She says “I do not yield easily to it, even after decades of practice. My first instinct is always to fight to get to the surface.” She goes on to share how the practices of trust and surrender when she finds herself in the deep waters of grief have taught her to float. I share this because I think it is a beautiful lesson to carry into the winter, which is associated with the feeling of grief and the process of going within.

As a season, winter reminds us of our vulnerability. We require external sources of heat to survive, and we may need to prepare a stock of food to carry us through a season where little grows. As nights grow longer we lose access to the sustenance the sun provides, and some of us feel this lack deeply. Cyclically winter may call us to tend to ourselves in ways that feel difficult to embrace. Bodies surface chronic aches, old pains both emotional and physical remind us that they are still there. When we have what we need, we can sink into this vulnerability as a preciousness, as in Lighthorse’s lesson of surrender. In this way our pain can in itself be a nourishment, a well, a teacher. When we fight our feelings we expend a great deal of energy resisting. When we surrender, we regain access to this power, and can use it instead to love, listen, and learn.

As we move deeper into the winter season we can commune with Water as a teacher and friend. We can sit and observe it as it moves and changes shape, remembering how we also have this ability to move back into regulation and stillness after a disturbance. We can sit in water, close our eyes and remember in our cells what it feels like to be held, to feel relief from the pull of gravity. We can nourish ourselves with water, cozy up with a cup of hot tea, eat a bowl of stew, sit in a sauna or lay with a steamy cloth over our eyes or wrapped tight around our feet. Winter as a time of scarcity is also a time that encourages curiosity and creativity. As winter pulls itself around us may you connect with your inner springs and find new ways of nourishing your being.