Karen Nimmo: Honouring Darkness
Deep in the dark, quiet, stillness I find my knowing. In the dark, rotting, decay of midwinter I find a resting place. The smells of the composting leaves, damp moss, hanging in the air. Thickly. In the woods the tree branches empty, aside from the buds formed, the previous summer. Resting and waiting. Which ones will make it into leaf, or bloom? In the dark, still decaying woods in the winter there is no demand for anything to be other than it is. The energy that has been decomposes on the forest floor, providing nourishment for life a new. Already, when I write that last bit, about nourishment for life a new, I feel the rush towards spring and summer. Too fast.
First there is death and decay and nothing. And I like it. Void. Pause. Stop. Quiet. Still. Of course, on that forest floor, in the decay there is a teeming of life. Microscopically. But I don’t want to write about the life in the death, or the light in the darkness or any of that. I want to appreciate the darkness, not in relation to its opposite of light, or the potential in it. Or all the other ways we try and lighten it up. I don’t want to make it brighter.
I found my way to appreciating the darkness when I began studying the mandala form through an online course in 2016. Deep in the trenches of my gestalt training and personal therapy, I experienced a significant personal collapse and found my way to art making and art journalling. This became a sanctuary for me and a powerful means of expressing the stuff of myself that words couldn’t touch and I began painting a new me into being.
This course, Mandala Magic, created by Julie Gibbons¹, was inspired by the Great Round of Mandala, an art therapy tool developed by Joan Kellog and expanded on by Suzanne Finscher. The Great Round had identified archetypal images and qualities in the mandala form that represents aspects of human experience. Julie’s programme presented a sequence of mandala formation that suggested, to me, something a kin to the cycle of experience. Beginning with the black disc of the void, progressing through increasingly complex formations to a peak, before winding back down again towards the black void. This journey mapped against the seasons of our northern hemisphere experience. Beginning in the winter and building to a peak in the summer, returning to the winter again. Julie’s programme brought not just the great round of mandala to life, but also integrated her study of Jungian psychology, providing rich ground for exploration in the art journalling exercises.
I fell in love with painting those black circles, page after page after page of black discs, with different types of paint, sometimes pastels, sometimes layers of pastels, then paint, then pencil. How completely black could I make this circle!? Occasionally painting a colourful background, and then feeling ambivalent about this addition of colour. Longing to contact something of what has in this void, black circle of the dark.
I walked in the woods, I came to love the winter and the rot, decay, compost, decomposition. Returning home to paint my black discs. Solace.
And of course, the journey continued. I didn’t stay with black circles for ever, I explored geometric designs, fluid spontaneous abstract expression, collage, all sorts of things. But the black circles hold a special place in my heart. As does the depth of winter, and, for me, something I feel as the holding of nature’s rot and decay. It just does it. It doesn’t go on beyond its capacity for life and flourishing, it lets go, into the ground. And yes, often for the new to come in, in one way or another. But not always. Sometimes the death and decay is just that. An end.
In the invitation to write about this topic, there was mention of the dark feeling evoked by the what’s happening in our world and the wish to find some light. I understand this and long for it too.
One of the gifts of my journey into the darkness and my befriending and honouring of it has been my discovery and cultivation of my capacity to grieve. The painting of the black circles would often be accompanied by many tears, deep sobs and a letting go into pain, sorrow and deep sadness and often rage. Finding my way to and with these feelings in the holding of those black circles, the walks in the rotting winter woods, and support through therapy and important relationships opened me to love in a way I had never consciously experienced, and in that a depth of being that I am eternally grateful for.
As I write this towards the end of this winter, thinking of my years of painting and journeying I think of my reluctance to move into the new and to add on the thing about making way for new life when I consider the decay of winter.
I think in discovering the loving ground there can be in the depths of the grief and darkness, and the opening to life that that offers; I want to stand up for darkness, to advocate for our entering into it, companion each other as we do that. And let what needs to die, die. There certainly seems to be a great need for that in many of the destructive systems we humans have built. In the despair I sometimes feel about what’s going in the world and my feelings of powerless to impact world events, economic systems and the melting of the ice caps; I grieve. Sometimes I think embracing the darkness and grieving is a radical act of reclaiming something and letting the parts of me that are caught up with these unhealthy systems die back in those tears is all I can do. I feel freer to live from love and care when I have given myself to that darkness, more choiceful, rooted. Less in the grip of processes that demand more of me than I have to give - the essence of extractive, consumer capitalism.
I still can’t bring myself to end this in the expected way, like ‘and that is where we will find the light we are longing for’ or a similar turn of phrase.
Perhaps I’m not so interested in light. Making friends with the darkness has been far more satisfying, for me.
Addendum
I wrote this two weeks ago, at the cusp of imbolc, the celtic waymarker between midwinter and spring equinox. Since then the light is changing, the days are peceptively longer and there is a fuller brightness with the sun higher in the sky. I see the crocuses and daffidols coming up and I feel a softness in me to the burgeoning light. An opening to welcome the new shoots, the longing in me to be down in the muck and rot of the dark midwinter woodland lessening. Mind turning towards activity again, ideas, projects. Energy building. This transition feels gentle, stirring and delicate. I don’t want to rush into full sun quite yet. My eyes need to adjust. Body needs to unravel slowly from a more inward focus. And there might still be more frost, don’t want to go running towards the sun too soon. Light and dark, so often spoken often in their polarised relationship. How do we transition between them? How do we appreciate each for what they bring? Like all polarities how do we find a creative relationship with and between them (thanks for that one Jill, if you’re reading). What is hidden in the shadows of the darkness within us that needs a delicate, holding light held on it so that we might become more whole? And by that I mean a soft flickering candle light, not a glaring spot light!
I am grateful for this winter, and am becoming ready for spring.
Footnotes
1: https://www.juliegibbons.com/
Julie’s online course has now evolved into the Mandala Magic School where there a number of online programmes and resources for those interested in developing an art practice for self exploration using the mandala form.
Karen Nimmo is a Gestalt Therapist in Edinburgh, Scotland. She works in private practice and has a particular interests in creativity, embodiment, women’s psychology and working at depth.
Her practice website is www.karennimmo.co.uk , email address karen@karennimmo.co.uk
She shares her writing and art work at www.maidenmothercrone.online
