There is Fog, and the Scent of Cedar, and Candles to be Lit
Plus: A Tarot Spread for the Yuletide Season
Dear One,
The last few mornings I’ve been going for walks in the foggy woods as soon as I get out of bed. One of the gifts of winter is the ability to sleep in and still be up in time to see the sunrise. Dawn is different when seen through fog. No startling colors. The light is diffuse, soft. It almost feels like a secret, this sunrise. I walk slowly, deliberately taking one step and then another. I can’t see very far ahead. Yet I’ve walked these ways before. I trust my body to know the way, to turn here rather than there, to pause at the crossroads. I trust my feet not trip over a cottonwood root, as long as I take care where I step.
This fog feels like it’s obscuring then revealing a glimpse into the Otherworld, the land of the ancestors, of the fae. Perhaps I’m walking right past a threshold that might take me to a place between places, a threshold or portal. The Beloved Dead are so close this time of year. I can almost feel my mother wrapping a scarf firmly around my neck as I turn to walk back home. She smells like violets.
My cheeks are red and my lungs are flooded with frosty fog as I enter my little nest. I light the prayer candle on the altar, turn on the twinkly lights, put on a pot of coffee, wrap myself in my favorite shawl, and sigh with deep satisfaction.
I was talking to a friend the other day about how, no matter how content we are with our present circumstances, the Yuletide holidays seem to accentuate loss — death, divorce, distance.
I find myself remembering how I felt as a child waking up on Christmas morning. There was a soft glow in the living room from the colored lights on the tree. My dad put on a record of Mantovani Christmas carols and started making fresh-squeezed orange juice while my mom made coffee. Then we settled in around the tree to open all the presents. I was a much-wanted only child so I was a bit spoiled, with mounds of gifts. This scene was repeated often during my childhood. I have a body memory of standing at the doorway into the living room, sleep still in my eyes, gazing at the twinkling lights, listening to the carols and my parents’ laughter in the kitchen. I’m grateful I was given the gift of belonging, of home, of family, at such an early age. I hope I have passed on that feeling, not only to my children, but to all the community circles I’ve been part of over the years.
So I allow myself to feel the pain of missing my parents and missing my child-self. I miss my little blond-haired boys, when I was a young mother trying to make holiday memories for them. I miss visiting my granddaughter when she was small and making art with her. I miss being the hostess who welcomed our local community into my home (for 17 years!) for our annual St. Lucia Party.
I miss the ones who are gone, those in my circle of friends who have passed through the veil before me.
And yet. There is fog. There is the scent of cedar. There is sunrise. There are candles waiting to be lit on the Advent Sunwheel wreath each Sunday until Solstice. There’s a St. Lucia crown I need to make for this year’s party, although I am no longer the hostess. There are gingersnaps to be baked. There are presents to be wrapped and shipped to the east coast. There are small gatherings and large ones, with firelight and candlelight and laughter, tears, and love.
May it be so for you. May you also embrace the grief and the warmth of Yuletides past. May you always know your loved ones have your back, be they ancestors or still in the body. May you always know you are loved.
And so it is.
What or who are you missing this Yuletide season? Do you have a warm holiday memory you’d like to share with us? We’d love to hear.
A Tarot Spread for the Yuletide Season
I pulled this spread out of the archives and just had to chuckle at how timely it seems. As we stand on the threshold of collective change with a new U.S. administration coming in, we know we each need to take care of ourselves and then contribute to the collective. Each one of us has a special talent and a sacred task that will help others. What might that be for you?
Pull a tarot or oracle card to spark a response, then finish the following sentences:
The gift of the nurturing darkness is ...
The promise of the returning sun is ...
I find potential or hope for my personal life through ...
One action I can take to offer hope and renewal to the larger community is ...
Today, my Holy Helpers most want me to know ...
Please share your reading in the comments, if you like. And if you’re puzzled by a card you pulled, share that too. We’ll give you some ideas.
This Week’s Song: “Lucia, the Night of Light” by Jonna Jinton
This is a short film (8 minutes) instead of one song like I usually share. It’s lovely and magical. St. Lucia’s Day (aka “Little Yule”) is December 13th, when she bestows her gifts of light and sustenance at the darkest time of the year.
If you want to know more about St. Lucia and the parties I used to host, you can download a PDF of a book I wrote in 2013 from this page as a gift.
If you’re a new subscriber, welcome! I’m not sure where the new influx of subscribers came from, but I’m very glad you’re here. You may know that I write mostly about seasonal lore, earth-based spirituality, and the tarot. I’m also quite interested in conscious aging as I navigate my 70s, so that naturally works into my writing as well.
I post about once a month for free subscribers, and every Sunday for paid ones. I’ve been sharing glimpses of my artwork-in-progress with my paid subscribers, as well as special seasonal offerings, an in-depth ongoing study of the Major Arcana, and monthly Wisdom Circles on Zoom that people seem to love. Plus, I post a song every week! (Americana / roots / folk music nerd here.) If any of this sounds good to you, please consider becoming a paid subscriber (button below). We’d love to get to know you.
Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and listen. Thank you for being part of my extended circle, always.
Blessings of this time out of time,
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About me: I’m Joanna Powell Colbert, creator of the Gaian Tarot and the Pentimento Tarot, and co-creator of the Herbcrafter’s Tarot. I write and teach about tarot, earth-centered spirituality, seasonal & lunar lore, and creativity as a spiritual practice. You can also connect with me on Instagram, Facebook, or BlueSky.
I want to thank you for honoring both the joy of this season and the sense of missing people we love--whether our ancestors, our departed or distant friends, or the small children our adult children once were. I feel quite nostalgic for my twin little boys (now 50!) this time of year--and nostalgic for my own girl self. One year, when my Grandma Ruth was still alive she sent me a Christmas card with this verse: "Backward, O backward, time in your flight. Make me a child again just for tonight." May all that is childlike and joyous arise in you during Yuletide, my friend. And thank you for the Tarot spread. I look forward to finding a quiet space and time for using it.
I may have shared this memory in one of your previous classes. Joanna, so please forgive me for bringing back my memory not of Christmas/Yule, but of St. Lucia's Day.
When I was a girl of nine or ten years, I remember reading about the Lucia tradition in Sweden, where the oldest girl in the family would rise before everyone else and make breakfast for the family, serving everyone while wearing a Lucia crown of candles. This got my attention because I was the oldest of three girls, and I thought this was the neatest thing I'd ever heard.
So I surreptitiously made myself a Lucia crown, complete with candles, out of construction paper and crayons and glue. I would do it! I'd honor St.Lucia by reenacting the ancient ritual! I was quite pleased with myself.
On St.Lucia's Day I set my plan in motion. The thing I hadn't taken into account was that besides me, no one else in the family had ever heard of the Lucia breakfast.
As quietly as I could, I prepared four cups of cocoa with marshmallows and a plate of cookies that I'd "borrowed" from the Christmas tree. Stealthily I stepped into the still-darkened bedroom that my two sisters shared and flipped in the light. "Happy Saint Lucia's Day!" I beamed, ready for delighted smiles.
My middle sister opened one eye, muttered, "You're so weird," and went back to sleep. My youngest sister, 4 or 5 years old, was about to do the same when she caught sight of the cookies. That woke her up fast, and she padded behind me as I took the tray into my parents' room.
They woke and stared sleepily at me, utterly confused at the two of offering a tray of something with expectant smiles.
My dad, like my middle sister, was completely unimpressed and turned over, pulling up the covers to go back to snoring. My mom, bless her heart, clearly decided she didn't need to understand everything her odd oldest daughter did. She thanked me but said she'd get up in a while after a bit more sleep.
I thought, Well, I did my part, and quietly closed the bedroom door. My sister was eyeing the cookies intently, so I led her back to the kitchen table. ThQere we feasted on cocoa and cookies in the predawn darkness and quiet.