I’m sitting in the dark as I type this, the radiation from the laptop’s screen illuminating my face like a fascimile of the original campfire. Except, that’s something of a lie because it isn’t truly dark. I am basking in the glow of the lights strung in the windows. Big fat bulbs in primary colors make a light like no other behind the blinds, a light that is the Christmas that they try so hard to sell us. It is the way Christmas is supposed to be, soft and comforting and bringing a little brightness to a dark world.
Except, the lights don’t have anything to do with Christmas. Nothing at all.
In the places in the world distant from the equator this time of the year, the time between the autumnal equinox in September and the winter solstice in December, the world goes first gray and then black. The long, slow transition from bright sun to night that characterizes summer in northerly latitudes doesn’t exist. There is no evening; no sky streaked with gold and orange for you to search hopefully for the mythical flash of green. Darkness falls with the nearly literal cartoon thud becoming all encompassing dead of night with a shocking swiftness. It is as if the sun itself is tired of being here and only illuminates us for as brief a period as possible, just enough to give those folks in the south a little darkness and relief from sticky summer heat.
The lights we put up this time of year have nothing to do with the Christian spirit; indeed, a close, knowledgeable reading of the seminal Christian text leads only to the logical conclusion that Jesus was probably born sometime in the late spring (after all, what sort of incompetant shepard takes his sheep far from home to graze in the dead of winter?)
No, the celebrations in November and December (both Christian and non-Christian alike) are about the returning of the light, about the literal lighting a candle to drive away the darkness. They are about renewal, and, at its base, that very human desire to celebrate the fact that we are not dead yet.
So here I sit in the glow of these colorful, shining lights counting the minutes until the balance between daylight and darkness where I live starts to shift back toward sunshine. Sitting under these lights makes me believe that good things are still possible. Maybe it’s a trick of the mind or of nostalgia. Or maybe it’s something more basic and human than that.
Whatever the case may be, I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.
I’m one of those people in a country with about a maximum of 4 hours daylight at this time of year. It’s still pretty dark this morning (it’s 11am) and it’ll be pitch black by 3pm. Go about hundred or so miles north and it never gets light all day.
I would go further: the lights are not just about taking away the winter gloom, they’re specifically in greens and yellows and reds to give you the flavour of spring in winter.
Also, the lights make even less sense in the southern hemisphere, where they’re having 20hours a day of sunlight in New Zealand.
They’re still pretty, though, and they do make you feel warm and cozy inside, so job well done.
exelent
The returning of the light…powerful symbolism. I don’t think it’s a trick of the mind…I think it’s something more powerful, tied to the seasons of the year and the cycles of life. There’s something powerful about light in the darkness, the promise of spring and of rebirth and renewal. Whatever the reason, the feeling is real, comfortable, dare I say magical. Enjoy it . Anything that brings comfort and happiness is a good thing in this world.