At the Winter Solstice ceremony, we take time to consider the virtue of darkness: the strength and honesty to face what is dark, and hard, and true. The virtue of darkness is the willingness to stare into challenges so immense they seem unsolvable, and not look away.
Solstice also cultivates the virtue of fire – the virtue of ambition, and problem solving, and a visceral desire to do something, to fight back against the dark and the cold. It is gathering together to tell stories of the beautiful futures we see flickering in the flames; it is electricity and rockets and the dream of a different existence.
And then, there is the virtue of ash: the virtue of resilience, of carrying on. It is the virtue of looking at the burnt ruins of a house you spent years building, of feeling sick with the weight of what was lost, and beginning to rebuild, because… what else is there to do but rebuild? WHERE else is there to go, but back up the mountain, pushing yourself and your dreams higher once again.
The virtue of ash means somehow making the possibilities of the future feel more salient than the aching absence of what was lost. It means seeing today as the starting point for tomorrow, even when the scale of broken things we must rebuild seems unfathomable. It means beginning to lay a new foundation, even if you know you may never live to see the house built on it shining with warmth and wholeness again, the way it was on that last night in your memory.
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