A Certain Stellar Light
Conjuring a mid-winter mood
If the aim of every creative gesture is to evoke a mood, then this week is permeated with the opportunity to express a mood soaked in starlight and ancient magic by apprenticing to the big forces of nature and time.
To think of midwinter as a mood—whether celebrated through Solstice, Christmas or Hanukkah (we do all 3 in our house)—is to enter an emotional condition “to which the heart has given over,” as 20th century mystic Rudolph Steiner described it. Back in 1910 in the big cities, Steiner witnessed all the blazing commercialism, noise and lights that mark the holiday season now, as he explained, lecturing on the spirit of the season in Berlin that December. But he could still recall the country winters of his childhood, when a transformative hush fell over the villages and the people slowed down and turned to contemplation, moodily listening to what spoke to them from the stars.
This year, I’ve found that by simply attuning to Steiner’s humble and holy nocturne, and to the darkness and soft silence here in Upstate New York, that old midwinter mood is accessible–and very much alive. As Steiner put it, midwinter, in its invitation of suspension, offers the opportunity to connect with the cycles of the earth in “empathy for nature’s own mood.” And what could be born in the soul, he wondered, “when our inner-most wellspring is so well attuned to what is sacred?” It’s a question that beckons me into this very particular, expectant and star-lit dark. I’m welcoming the primal, mystical messages that might arrive from the dense center of the universe via the stars.
Just as a true work of art contains the power to evoke feeling in the body—a measurable phenomenon—using the environment to create a mood is an art form, and collaborating with the star-lit midwinter is a living experiment, entered through the senses. The lighting, the timing, the aromas, the tastes, the sounds, the subtleties and the grand gestures, elements of surprise, of luxury, and simplicity. Getting good at conjuring a mood and transmitting it is another way to expand your creative practice. The better you are at attuning with care and precision to the mood of the moment, amplifying it or deepening it, the better you become at channeling those larger-than-life forces in your creative work, your art, music or your writing.
Over the last weeks, I’ve focused on gestures that are precious, secluded, and express wonder. It’s not the ring-a-ding holidays, but something weirder and more intimate. It’s not only slowing down to watch the neighbors’ bizarre laser lights on the lawn, the kitschy-campy axis where I’m comfortable, but the quiet and hallowed mood of a lone star hanging overhead in the night.
I’m calling it in by burning a crystalized tear of frankincense, curls of smoke rising coiled to the ceiling, or baking a dense, old-fashioned fruitcake, or siting alone in the dark and quiet living room, marveling at our tree—an uncanny and beautiful 8-foot magical object currently installed in our home. Lighting candles with just an extra breath of reverence and listening to The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols all contribute. But more than any of these traditional ways cast the mood, I’ve discovering the thrilling magic of humming to the stars in the dark, secreted among the shadows of our back yard, chin tipped to the night sky.
How do you evoke the mood? What kind of environment allows the stars to speak? What’s born in you when you attune to what’s sacred?
Makes me think of my favorite winter song, even though it isn’t always bleak-- in the bleak midwinter-which through its melody, captures these winter feels ❤️❤️